Notwithstanding
by Mellifluous Violet
Summary: A Ron and Hermione breakup story and the series of events that might bring them together again. Post DH, lots of angst, Romione all the way. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

This is a breakup story. If you stick with me long enough, it will be a love story. Romione moments (angst, m-rated, etc.) promised ahead.

* * *

"Damn him!" Hermione muttered tersely as her anxious eyes scanned the _Evening Prophet_. The shaggy hair she knew so well she could practically feel the ginger locks between her fingers had been shorn. His face was set as stone, hollow eyes blinking heavily. Hers busily scanned the page closer to take in his locked jaw, shadow of stubble, smudged hands, face flinching slightly as the harsh camera flashed.

With a deep sigh, the brunette witch sat down heavily in her favorite overstuffed reading chair, ignoring the grey ministry owl that sat patiently at her windowsill awaiting the five knuts owed for the paper.

 _"Aurors Unearth Dozens of Dark Artifacts in Macnair Lair"_ brazened the title, describing in excruciating detail the horrific evidence of muggle torture left in the unassuming house nestled deep in the marshy Scottish moorland belonging to the elusive Death Eater. Hermione remembered with a shiver the hooded executioner from her childhood, whose bloodthirst had been nearly tangible. The story detailed the string of hexes that had made the mission nearly impossible, requiring four aurors to report to the scene as backup when a particularly nasty hex had nearly drowned Ron's colleague. The reported had not explicitly named Ron the hero, but Hermione knew just from reading the statement made by the head of the office _("…the injudicious yet valiant decision to ignore common sense and rescue his fellow auror…"_ ) that her suspicion was likely correct. The hair on her neck stood on end when Hermione read that the Death Eater was not captured. Mission failed yet again. She was surprised the _Prophet_ had been permitted to post that bit of information.

"He's alright. Calm down," Hermione muttered quietly, pausing to finally appease the little owl who nipped lightly at the corner of the paper. After paying the owl and reading through the brief article twice more, she removed the page and folded it with shaky hands, placing it in a shoebox housed on her bookshelf. Eight other clippings were already placed inside, all referencing Ron Weasley's unit over the past two years.

Hermione drew a bath, hoping the tension from a long day at the ministry and subsequent scare following the news of the intense mission would wash away with the steam. Crookshanks rubbed between her shins as she sat on the edge of the tub, debating between an unopened Lily of the Valley soap her mother had bought her or a charmed white tea bath bomb that promised an hour of fizzy bubbles.

A pitiful meow caught Hermione's attention. The orange half-kneazle lifted its pinched face, meowing again. The movement set off the soft tinkle of the silver bell Hermione had fastened around the collar on his thick neck.

"What is it, Crookshanks?" Hermione crooned, rubbing behind his ears affectionately. She would be foolish to think the cat she had owned for nearly ten years now hadn't been an immense comfort to her. He had been a constant shadow, independent and adventurous while she was at work and cuddly when she returned home to her London flat. Thankfully she rented on the first floor, allowing the ginger cat the freedom to explore the alleyways and neighbors' scarcely overgrown city gardens. She never worried for Crookshanks' safety – he had the keen ability to judge the intentions of creatures, wizardfolk, and muggles alike. Hermione could trust him to look after himself.

Deciding that he was probably just eager for attention, Hermione rubbed the ginger cat until he perked his ears and sped off, clearly hearing something his owner couldn't perceive.

The bath had finally cooled enough for her to sink her body in slowly, relishing the stinging sensation as the hot water made contact with her skin. The tiny flat had an even tinier tub, and she barely was able to fully extend her legs out in front of her. Despite every protective fiber of her being screaming to let her mind go to that place, she wondered how Ron would fit if he tried to bathe here.

 _No. Think of something else_. Her angry survival side went into action, the part of her she had kindled and encouraged and relied on to get through endless day and nights of torment. Quickly she brought to mind the usual distractions: what was due at work tomorrow, who did she need to network with in order to push forward her latest policy, how did her last case go? Her mind rapidly flew through each question and she was left again with a lingering temptation to think of him. To think of the person who had left her when she was most vulnerable, fragile – when she even confessed to him that she did in fact need him.

Then he had left her all alone.

Hermione angrily grabbed her flannel, dunking it into the soapy water and lathering her arms roughly. _Think. Of. Something. Else._ Her thin arms stung as she rubbed the fabric forcefully up her shoulders, the water about her waist sloshing with the movement.

But her curious mind won over survival mode. _Was he also washing the misery of today off his body? Why had he cut his hair so short? Was it required now?_

"Stop!" she cried, throwing the flannel across the tub to land at her feet and leaning her head back against the firm porcelain. Hot, angry tears leaked out despite her best effort to control her emotions. Defeated, her heart clenched forcefully within her chest, hands clasping her knees tightly as she fought to regain control.

Crookshanks' bell chimed lightly as he appeared at the entryway of the bathroom, his fluffy tail inching up the doorpost. Hermione sniffed and reached out a wet hand, grateful to feel Crookshanks' solid form as he walked under her hand, stretching his spine beneath her. Hermione turned her head lazily towards him, meeting his piercing yellow eyes. They were slightly thickened with cataracts now, though they sparkled with usual curiosity.

The minutes passed and water turned cold before Hermione found the motivation to move, drying off and making the short walk to her adjacent bedroom. Her large, immaculately white duvet was pulled back and she slipped inside, shivering as she draped it back over her naked body. The bath had made her bushy hair curl tightly, though she couldn't find the energy to retrieve her wand and cast a drying spell to prevent the inevitable frizz. Without effort anymore her body woke around 4am each morning, alleviating any need to set an alarm.

Her ever-faithful pet jumped quietly to the foot of the queen bed, turning in circles before curling up into a fluffy orange sphere and purring softly. She knew he would only stay there a short while before pouncing noiselessly to the floor to roam the living room. She'd caught him on more than one occasion in the middle of the night sitting by the window, staring out at the street as though standing guard.

The lights in her bedroom were still on as she closed her eyes, unable to sleep without the reassurance that the darkness wouldn't allow her to slumber deeply enough to dream of him.

* * *

It was an unusually warm spring night, though the wind was beginning to pick up as he pulled his hood over his head. It still took him by surprise when he brushed his hand through his short hair, a habit formed from years of letting it grow till his mother fussed that it needed a cut.

Each step hurt as he fought his way through the busy streets, keeping his blue eyes fixed on his trainers in case anyone recognized him. Witches and wizards had long since moved on from the fanaticized reactions following the fall of Voldemort, but occasionally an especially grateful well-wisher would call out for a photograph or handshake. These days, most people would simply stare and offer diminutive smiles.

In truth, he much preferred his hair long, but felt that his look needed a bit of an edge. Harry had kept his raven hair wild as usual, but had grown in stature and confidence. Ron couldn't help but smile lightly to himself, grateful his best mate was enjoying the life he'd built since the war. But that was quickly replaced with the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach that grew and knotted until he couldn't take it anymore.

Dipping into the nearest pub around the corner from the ministry, Ron was glad to see that it was mainly filled with strangers. When thoughts of _her_ entered his mind, it was much easier to down pints by himself than risk someone asking him why he was so surly.

The gruff witch asked his order as he took a seat at the bar, her voice croaking with age. His sore arms and legs pulsed as he sat forward, wrinkling his forehead as he debated whether he wanted to start with a beer or go straight to whiskey. The witch didn't give him time to decide and whisked off brusquely, tending to the loud group that just entered the pub.

Ron rubbed his tired eyes and suppressed a yawn, but was jolted to attention as a hand lightly tapped him on the shoulder. Without warning his hand leapt to his wand, brandishing it as he spun off the chair and faced his attacker. He was appalled to realize the person standing before him with arms held up was none other than Padma Patil, looking confused and frightened at the reaction from her former schoolmate.

"Ron Weasley! Put that thing away right now – surely you remember me!" she screeched, dark eyes trained on Ron's wand hand. It took him a second to respond to her words, taking in her lovely dark hair that fell nearly to her waist and smart dress robes. She looked great, despite the irritated look on her face.

"Er, sorry 'bout that," Ron muttered, tucking his wand away and nervously glancing around the dimly lit pub. A few people cast edgy looks his way and the bartender eyed him uneasily.

"Any trouble, miss?" Padma shook her head and looked pointedly at Ron, who could feel her heavily on his reddened face.

"How…how've you been, Padma?" Ron managed to ask, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. They simultaneously moved towards the closest empty table, choosing seats across from one another. Padma graciously smiled at him, appearing much more at ease as the redheaded man rubbed a hand over his stubbly cheek.

"Just fine, Ron. I'm engaged – he's from Australia, an arithmancer. Met when he came to London for a seminar," she beamed, unaware of Ron's unease at the mention of that godforsaken country.

"This one's on me, yeah?" Ron asked as he stood to order, not bothering to ask Padma if she wanted anything other than the strongest swott malt.

"Engaged…wow," Ron answered in a deadpan voice, pushing a glass of the golden liquid towards her. Padma smiled back at him, swirling the drink around before taking a tentative sip. "That's great. Cheers."

Padma sweetly shared about Marcus (or was it Mark? Angus?) as Ron slipped into drinking idly and pretending to listen. Halfway through telling sharing about their great debacle of where to live once married, Ron signaled for another round.

"I mean, Melbourne is alright and all, but – oh, no thank you, Ron. One's enough for me!" Padma answered as Ron gestured to the drink before shrugging his shoulders and downing another drink. The welcomed buzz was beginning to settle in, but it wasn't quite enough. The conversation was bound to take an unpleasant turn, no matter how hard Ron deviated.

"Well, enough about me! How's Harry? And Her-"

"What about Parvati?" Ron interrupted, starting to feel desperate. He needed to leave this pub now.

"Oh, how sweet of you to ask, Ron. She's doing much better…really enjoying her work as a mediwitch. She said she treated your colleagues, actually, when you all got into that nasty scuffle at The White Rat," she said hesitantly, the surprise not hidden from her voice."

"Oh, shite…no, I knew that. Just forgot is all," Ron stammered awkwardly, embarrassed that he'd forgot that Padma's twin had met them at the scene of a raid just weeks ago. They hadn't had much conversation, though it was nice to see her doing well.

Padma gave him a forgiving grin until Ron ordered yet another drink, downing half of it with one swig. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding eye contact.

"You know, it's getting late, Ron. I better head home soon," she said politely, reaching into her bag.

"No! Please, on me," Ron shook his head erratically as Padma fished out a few sickles. "Gotta save it for the wedding, right?" He gave a lopsided smile, hoping that his former Yule Ball partner would overlook his overindulgence in spirits and leave soon so he could stop feeling guilty about it.

"That's kind of you, Ron. Next time it's my treat and I get to hear more about you," she winked, standing to part ways. Ron got to his feet, unsure if he should offer a hug or shake her hand. Both felt weird.

Padma answered by kissing his cheek quickly, but before walking off, turned to ask him a question.

"Wait! Ron, before I go, I meant to ask…are you still with Hermione?"

 _Merlin._ Just hearing her name was like an unpleasant splash of cold water across his face. He just stood there, unsure of what to say. His heart thundered in his chest, anxiety prickling every nerve ending in his body. He felt bile begin to rise in his throat.

Forcing the word, he looked Padma in the eye and icily uttered a single word, the answer that pained him more than he ever dared admit to himself.

"No."

Padma must have realized her mistake, because she backed up a few steps and apologized for asking. Ron shook his head and waved her off, forcing himself to breath and part ways. Pay and get out. Walk and forget this happened.

The night air was a welcome relief as he ducked out of the pub, ignoring the sounds of happy patrons all around him. His stomach rolled with alcohol and lack of food. He made it two blocks and stopped in another bar, nodding to the familiar bartender and gulping down another two beers. He finally felt it – the warm feeling that erased his concerns, even if fleetingly. _No, never quite erased. Subdued. Fuzzied. Muffled._ His blood thundered but the rest of his body felt light. His sore muscles crying out for relief were nothing compared to the need he felt to override the ache in his heart, the anger and regret and sorrow when he was reminded of _her._ Which was every blasted minute of his damn life.

* * *

Hermione woke suddenly, her throat tight with thirst. As she suspected, it was barely past midnight. She threw on her dressing gown and padded down the hall. She'd left the lamp on, which cast a glow about the room, illuminating Crookshanks. His tail waved lazily in the air, eyes affixed to the street outside. As the witch busied herself with pouring a glass of water, a plastered young man paced back and forth outside across the road, concealed in the shadows by all except the ginger cat.

* * *

A/N: _To be continued! Follow for more._


	2. Chapter 2

_A:N: Okay, so this chapter builds up to_ why _they broke up, but I'm saving the actual retelling moment for the next chapter. Also, if you have a harder time following this time around, it's because I tried to go with a stream-of-consciousness feel for Ron's POV. Enjoy!_

* * *

Ron hated her bloody flat. _Hated_ it. Of course he had never passed through the threshold, and had even strengthened the protective wards around it from time to time, but it was in a seedy part of town inhabited by no-good muggles. The mornings seemed safe enough, but once the sun set it felt like an entirely different place. He had seen them rove about nocturnally, peering in car windows, cat-calling women, and one time even witnessed a bloke brandish a knife menacingly at a passerby.

Though he never dreamed of approaching her, never spoke of her, and tried his hardest not to think of her, he refused to turn a blind eye to her safety. Ron had seen her beaten and tortured before, and made a promise long ago that it would never happen again on his watch.

Her routine made this quite easy. She left work at half past six, walking instead of apparating. For some reason, this had irritated him when they were together though he didn't mind as much now, aside from the two-minute walk in the dodgiest section of her neighborhood. He assumed it used to bother him because it made him feel like a lazy git.

On Monday, she went to the wizarding library next to the apothecary. On Tuesday, the muggle grocer. On Wednesday, dinner with Ginny and Harry. On Thursday, straight home after getting takeaway (when Ron had dinner with Ginny and Harry). Fridays and Saturdays were most difficult, as she would occasionally pick up flowers, stop in Flourish and Blotts, go out with colleagues, or read at home. When she forgot to draw the curtains, he could spot her with an open book in that worn old chair sometimes. And Sundays were always reserved for her father.

Her mum passed away a little more than a year after the war. Ron had held her for hours each night, consoling her the best he could. She was completely devastated, wracked with grief for the not only her mother's untimely death, but also time lost during the war and worry for her father. It was one of the most helpless seasons of his life. He did anything he could to make her days easier, to try to bring lightness to her despair. He hated seeing her blotchy face, feeling her crushed spirit, listening to her hiccupping apologies.

Almost as much as he hated this bloody flat.

Hers was on the ground floor, easiest to break into. She fumbled with her key sometimes, making his knuckles white with tension when she took more than a few seconds to locate it. Occasionally she would look around and _accio_ her key, which entertained him more than he cared to admit. Crookshanks could be seen roaming about the tiny overgrown gardens and prowling the small parking lot, but darted inside the flat when she returned from work.

Ron's work schedule was erratic. Missions sent him all across the UK, tailing dark witches and wizards. He became quite the pursuer. When he couldn't be there to keep her safe, he channeled all his energy into hunting those who threatened the peace and safety Shacklebolt's ministry had fought to reinstate. Ginny then became the protector.

When Ron initially asked his sister to look out for her while he was on assignment, it was when they were still together. Ginny would crash at the flat they shared, or she would sleep at Ginny's. There was no negotiating – Ron was stubborn when it came to this. Soon it became second nature for Ginny, and the two young women became accustomed to their regular sleepovers when Ron and Harry were away.

When they broke up, Ron couldn't even utter her name to his family. Ginny had found him crumpled on the floor of the shabby room he was renting at the Leaky Cauldron, pissed out of his mind. The youngest Weasley had listened to the blubbering version of what happened and dusted her brother off, apparating him to Harry's and later checking in on Hermione. She'd been the go-between ever since, providing stability to their new, shitty single lives and convincing Harry not to take a side, either. They were equally there for both of them, though quite separately.

Both vacated their former flat near Diagon Alley…they couldn't bear to cohabitate with each other's ghosts. Ron moved in with Harry, as Ginny spent most of her time at training in Holyhead.

"She'll be fine, Ron…I'll check in on her when I can," Ginny reassured him the first time he was given a case post-breakup. He had been infuriated when he learned of where _her_ new residence was.

"Why can't she bloody well live with her father? Merlin knows that house has more bloody rooms than he knows what to do with! How could you let this happen?" He had come to regret the way he roared at his sister, but the disappointment in her failure to dissuade the brunette witch to live somewhere sensible hadn't faded much. Harry even got involved, threatening to throw Ron out if he continued to hoist unrealistic expectations upon the two of them.

It had been two weeks and he had followed her home most nights, despite how painful it had been to see her again. He hadn't mentioned his new evening routine to a soul, including Harry, fearing he'd be sent off to the Janus Thickey Ward. But Ginny knew the depth of loyalty he had to protecting the girl he loved, and she promised him one night, after finding him belligerent leading up to his first overnight mission, that she would look after her when he couldn't.

And here he was again, seventeen months after that horrible night in the ministry when everything came to a head. He could see her, clear as day through the window, in the modest pale pink dressing gown he knew she liked. Her hair was curly as ever, tumbling past her shoulders.

 _Fuck._ He missed her.

She disappeared from view and all he could see was that blasted cat, bleary yellow eyes and dark silhouette. He remembered with fondness how delighted she had been to find that damn cat after their return from Hogwarts, letting out a girlish squeal when Auntie Muriel emerged with the orange terror stuffed into a birdcage. Ron had lived with that cat at Grimmauld Place, their temporary home with Harry until they decided to live somewhere less dreary. Flashbacks of Death Eaters perched across the street did not help ease Ron to sleep at night.

The only upside to their stint at Harry's inherited home was the precious, unhurried time he spent with her. Their physical injuries were healing, but they helped one another with the invisible wounds. Hers came in the form of thrashing nightmares, fits of tears, and the need for physical contact. Ron's were darker, more sinister – he suffered intense panic attacks, paranoia, and anger. Twice he managed to rip off heads of the dead Black family house elves charmed to the wall – an incredible feat considering that they had been unmoved for centuries. His powerful magic would explode with anger, ruining household furniture and irritating Harry to no end. She had been patient with him, calming him down with cool hands on his cheeks or whispered words in his ear. He knew it frightened her, his uncontrolled magic, but there was really nothing he could do about it. Keeping his emotions buried and repressed inside just wound him up tighter.

But they also had times of healing in that old, dingy house. Laughter pierced the solemn air, shades thrown back to fill the house with glorious light, delicious food filling every inch of the long dining table some nights, rivaling the Hogwarts feast. Surviving Order members stopped by regularly, bringing games and more food and new babies and reports of the successful ministry, which added to the newfound sense of freedom they were all getting accustomed to.

There was also the newfound sense of wonder Ron found in his girlfriend. That silly word not coming close to how he defined her. She had been the object of his fascination and delight for years, but now he could actually express that to her. The nights spent in springy king-sized bed in the blue bedroom on the third floor, cuddling behind her, knowing she slept best with his arm loosely around her waist. The way she murmured his name sometimes in her sleep. The chill in the house that brought them even closer, enveloping one another in a shared warmth. The whispered conversation, unhurried, late at night.

Their level of intimacy and comfort with one another grew as the days went on. He told her things about himself he never dreamed he'd confess. He abandoned any pretense of having it all together around her, though he strived to be there for her in the ways she had supported him. She listened patiently; careful to only interrupt when she felt he was being too hard on himself. In time, she reciprocated her anxieties and fears. He remembered tracing the scar on her neck one night, allowing tears to fall down his face silently as the recounted a recurring traumatic image of Bellatrix sitting on her chest. Bearing their souls to one another became more natural, but Ron could tangibly feel that ominous autumn creeping upon them, leading to a separation neither felt they could overcome. She clung to him those nights in Grimmauld Place, burying her face in his neck. Anxiously he would soothe her, fearful of how she would handle the imminent nights alone in Gryffindor tower.

The years that followed were a whirlwind – she returning to Hogwarts as he and Harry entering their hellish training academy, the agony of being separated for months at a time, him nearly getting kicked out of the program when his outbursts were nearly uncontrollable. The desperate way they made love after being reunited at Christmastime, touching one another like they might never get another chance. The elation of realizing they were both employed by the ministry, able to finally have some stability. The decision to move into the quaint upstairs flat above the antique shop. Her terrible cooking. His hands running up and down her arm as she read on his lap on the sofa. Her peals of laughter when he recounted episodes from work. The pride he felt when he held her hand in public. The dizzying way she looked smiled at him when he brought her home a new book. Her weight on his chest when she fell asleep overlapping him. Kissing her and kissing her and kissing her. _Merlin._

But it hadn't all been daisies and sunshine, either – she was beyond stressed at work, obsessively bringing home case files and leaving for the office before he even woke up in the mornings. The few times she lost a case, it tore at her soul – the unjust abuse against a magical creature without a conviction felt raw and personal. Her nightmares were waning until the news of terrible sickness and then death of her mother, leading to the worst nights of sleep followed by long days at the office. She was constantly teetering on the verge of a breakdown from sheer exhaustion. Ron remembered stroking her hair as she woke from a kip on the sofa when they had flooed home at midday, begging her to stay home and request a longer leave of absence from work.

Ron wasn't immune to stress of life in their new reality, either. Two years of auror training pushed him to his limits. The suffering of the war was compounded by simulations in training, leaving him desperate for an escape. He nearly failed every examination, getting by only with the help of his fellow trainees. It was humiliating. Trauma flooded every facet of his mind. The flashbacks were unending – Harry dead in Hagrid's arms, watching her get kicked and crucio'ed by that psychopath until she passed out, lifeless Fred being dragged across the stone floor by Percy, Lavender Brown's ravaged body…Merlin, _all the bodies._

When she wasn't home by the time he left the office, he frequented the pubs. Drinking made him miss Fred, and so he drank more to forget about Fred. When Ron came stumbling through the door completely wasted, she would roll her eyes and ignore him, choosing the silent treatment as punishment for his offensive activities. When she ignored him, he yelled at her. She screamed back. It was misery in that little upstairs flat when they both took their anger out on the other. What always brought them back together again were nights she desperately needed to sleep. There was no mistaking he acted as her security blanket, and shamefully used that to his disadvantage. He manipulated her into apologizing just so he would slip back into bed and pull her close, knowing she had a same sort of draw to him as a moth to a flame. As he was beginning to have to his alcoholic escapes. It was nauseating.

But there she was, seventeen months later. Healthy, alive, effortlessly gorgeous as ever. Moving about in the flat that he hated, because it was _her_ flat. Because she had a life that only included him unknowingly in the shadows, too afraid to confront her.

A light drizzle began to fall. Ron wanted nothing more than to knock on her door, but shame kept him glued to the sidewalk under the awning of the closed newspaper stand. A light flickered and went out. No – he could still faintly make out the light. The curtain had just been drawn tightly shut.

"Sweet dreams, 'Mione," he whispered hoarsely before apparating with a crack.

* * *

She woke with a start, her stomach twisting uneasily until she realized she had fallen asleep on the sofa. Crookshanks sat on his haunches before her, meowing loudly.

Hermione groaned, sitting up and stretching her arms high above her head. A pile of books lay on the floor, and Hermione vaguely remembered skimming them as she had tried to doze off last night.

"Poor boy, are you hungry?" Her voice was thick with sleep. She rose lightly, heading to the kitchen to fill Crookshanks' bowl. He followed her closely, watching her every move. She paused to pull a cup from the cabinet – one of her mum's favorites with delicate light blue flowers painted on its surface. It had survived 27 years of marriage as well as a move to Australia and back.

"Merlin's pants!" she exclaimed, noticing the time. It was nearly seven! Tea would have to wait until she was in the office. Eloise from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had gifted her a marvelous elderberry kind she had been saving for a lousy day. Hermione hurriedly dumped food into the cat's bowl and rushed to get dressed, muttering unsavory words Ron would have been proud to hear.

 _Ron._ She ignored the sensible, survival side of her and wondered if they might cross paths today. The aurors nearly never arrived early unless they had to, walking about in small groups and keeping mostly to themselves. She avoided them like the plague, only arranging to meet with Harry outside of work or requesting they meet in her office. Never, under any circumstance, did she enter Level Two at the Ministry of Magic.

Since their separation, Hermione unexpectedly saw Ron a handful of times. Once he tried to board her lift at the ministry one morning in a rush, but upon noticing her, acted as though he had seen a ghost and fled. Another time she had spotted him at the library, pacing near the entrance and clearly attempting to untangle himself from a conversation with Ernie Macmillan. Several ministry-wide events had forced them into the same large room together, and when she was called on stage to share an impromptu speech they had made eye contact for a fraction of a second. It quite literally took her breath away. He had also been publically praised by ministry officials for his tenacity. By and large his unit had the highest rate of success, though no one in particular ever took credit for the victories. Ron especially avoided the limelight. Each occasion had been physically painful – a bit like freshly cutting open a wound she had naively hoped was mending.

Zipping herself into a simple black skirt and hastily buttoning her crisp white blouse, Hermione glanced in the mirror and noticed her cheeks were unusually rosy. The flushed sensation tended to happen when she allowed herself to think of Ron.

He _was_ dashing – there was no mistaking it. Of course she'd always found him attractive, but as he had grown up before her eyes it was undeniable. It was also no accident that he frequently graced the _Prophet._ His muscles had grown more pronounced, his lanky form filled out. She wondered what he looked like in person with short hair. Witches had gazed at him following the war. Even at the ministry, while they were still together, she would find herself getting overwhelmed with the urge to stand as humanely possible to him at the most inappropriate times. His masculinity, his distinct Ron-ness brought out an impulsive side in her she fought to suppress. Her job, of course, was more important. Or so she had thought,

A terrible noise disrupted her reverie as a crash from the next room pulled her back to reality, causing her to hurry to the kitchen and find bits of light blue porcelain shattered across the floor.

"Naughty Crookshanks! _Shoo!_ " she cried, scaring the ginger cat out the door. Now she was down to three treasured cups from her mum's collection. It wasn't uncharacteristic of her pet to inadvertently cause minor damage from time to time, and she already began to feel poorly for how she reacted.

"It's just a thing," Hermione whispered to herself, dusting up the mess and tossing the glass into the bin. Her mum would have cared much more about how she treated people and animals than she would a silly little shattered teacup. Getting to her feet, Hermione straightened her skirt and decided to apparate straight to work. There wasn't time today to dawdle.

* * *

"I can't keep up with this, Harry. It's _mental_ how much they've got us working," Ron complained loudly, not caring that his cubicle technically wasn't soundproof. Schedules for the week had been posted and he was being sent in search of Macnair for the next three nights in a row, along with two other blokes. Harry was on standby.

"Don't know what to tell you, mate. They clearly think you can get the job done," Harry responded from over his left shoulder. "Did you see the _Evening Prophet_? You made the front page."

Ron grunted in reply, irritated that Harry wasn't as peeved as he was to be subjected to another week of dangerous operations and the promise of little sleep.

"Don't bleeding get paid enough for this," he muttered, scanning the file for any new information on the raid.

"Nothing! How the fu–"

"Watch it! Keagan's back from leave. If he catches you swearing about placements this week you're in deep dragon dung," Harry warned, shooting his friend a concerned glance. Harry had seemed to somehow find favor with their manager, if you considered getting the cushy research jobs and occasional London tailing a reward. The Chosen One seemed content for once in his life to not be constantly in impending danger.

The two read over their files in silence as their colleagues filtered in. Sure enough, their balding Head of Department bustled in, whistling to the tune of a popular muggle pop song. Ron had heard it blasting from the cars near _her_ flat.

"Weaaasley," Keagan bellowed in his thick Bristol accent, "meet me in my office soon as you can."

"Bloody hell. Can't be good," Ron murmured to Harry. It was bad enough he had three consecutive nights on operations. Keagan never seemed too impressed with anyone, so he could only imagine this was some sort of reprimand. Rising from his desk, he walked up to his manager's office and was beckoned inside.

"Shut the door, will you? Weasley, I have new plans for you. Forget the mission," he shook a finger at him, "I need you on an interdepartmental case. Some lunatic has apparently released a Lethifold in London-"

"Are you fucking _serious_?" Ron interrupted loudly.

"- and I need you to ensure we destroy it before it kills anyone else. Two muggles reported missing so far, lady in Chelsea claims she saw her neighbor gettin' choked and eaten by a blasted cape out her window this morning," Keagan finished, choosing to ignore Ron's profane outburst. "And a black cape with the dark mark appeared in the Minister of Magic's office this morning."

"Why is this interdepartmental? Seems like it should –"

"It starts with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures but ends with us finding out who did this. RCMC's done the backend research on the beast, but we need good press to end this menace."

Dread filled him as Ron considered what consequences this might hold. Surely the gods above wouldn't partner him with the only employee he actually knew in Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He'd feign sickness. He'd quit. He'd pay Harry 500 galleons to do it for him.

"But sir…why me?"

"You, Weasley, have a chance at a leadership post…consider this a test, if you will. Should you have enough skill and gumption to actually solve this, it will pay off well for you. I'm giving you twenty-four hours. If you can't figure it out, you're back on overnights."

Too stunned to question further, Ron passively accepted the case file and rose to leave. He had no idea if he was intended to be flattered or offended by what was just revealed to him.

"Wait, sir… how do I find out …who's, um, working with me… on this?" Ron asked hesitantly, feeling the color already drain from his face.

"Merlin's beard, Weasley! You have two legs and a mouth on you. Walk yourself to Level Four and ask them your damn self."

* * *

 _A/N: Stick with me. It's going to get good._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I love holiday weekends! I'm in the US right now (split my time between here and Germany) and am loving this little reading and writing retreat I'm on right now. Simply glorious._

 _Thank you for the follows and reviews! It's so encouraging to hear that people are intrigued by this story. Please continue to let me know your thoughts. Also, apologies for the typos in the first two chapters…I never write with a beta and these are the consequences._

 _With that…enjoy! xx_

* * *

Ron half stumbled back towards his drab cubicle, a million thoughts swarming through his mind. The drone of activity in the office had picked up as witches and wizards filtered in on an ordinary Friday morning, greeting one another and discussing weekend plans as new assignments were skimmed over. But Ron heard only Keagan's echoing words contrasting with the unsteady rhythm of his anxiously increasing heartbeat.

Harry must have seen the glazed-over look in his friend's eyes or noticed the nervous sweat breaking out across his head, but had to ask what happened twice before Ron realized he was awaiting a response. There was a slight tremble in his voice as he recounted to Harry what their boss had just commissioned him to do, his voice rising a pitch higher than normal.

Of course, it wasn't the prospect of hunting down a deadly creature causing his palpitating heart. It was _her_.

"C'mon," Harry urged, standing to his feet and struggling to raise Ron by the elbow. "You've got to get moving! Lethifolds can –"

"It's not _that!_ " Ron barked, yanking his arm free from Harry's grip. "It's…it's the…the _person_ I might have to work with," he managed to utter bitterly, frustrated that Harry's perpetual saviour complex was interfering with his own personal crisis.

He watched as his best mate straightened his glasses, lips pursed together as he tried to comprehend what the redheaded wizard was implying. His green eyes were alert, swimming with curiosity and his expression suddenly flashed with realization. There was a momentary pause before he answered measuredly.

"Ron, she's brilliant. I don't have to tell you that. She might –"

"Shut it," Ron spat angrily. His heart was beating uncontrollably. The urge to apparate to his favorite pub around the corner was sounding incredibly appealing, even though it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. A bit of brandy would be nice.

Several tense seconds passed before the raven haired wizard leaning against his desk lost patience. With arms folded tightly across his chest, he narrowed his eyes at Ron and took an exasperated breath.

"That's it. If you're willing to let something this ridiculous keep you from rescuing innocent people, I'm asking Keagan for the case."

Another few seconds ticked by. Ron's stomach was twisted into a knot so tight he was having a hard time getting enough air into his lungs. He knew Harry wasn't bluffing, but also sensed his best mate was giving him ample time to process. It was only a matter of time before Keagan was going to poke his balding head out of his office and see the two wizards worriedly debriefing orders instead of addressing the catastrophe.

"Ron…" Harry started, his voice a bit gentler this time. The two men made eye contact and Ron finally gave up, sensing that Harry taking the heat for his lack of courage would likely be worse than whatever lay before him.

Both men grabbed their wands and hurried through the large oak doors, heading straight for the lifts. With each step forward, he felt his resolve strengthen. Visions of a horrid caped monster literally consuming muggles on the streets were beginning to shift his perspective. But only enough to allow him to put one foot in front of the other, following his best friend down the bustling corridor.

"Level Four," the elevator dinged in a cheery voice over the hum of flying notes. Ron gulped. The last time he had stepped foot on this floor was 517 days ago. One of the most awful days of his life.

* * *

Following Voldemort's downfall, the ministry was in absolute disarray. Open cases had been left abandoned, their statuses pending from when employees from all departments were channeled towards the success of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Even when Hermione started her job after a year of relative stability under Kingsley Shacklebolt, ample time was needed to sift through piles of neglected reports.

Reminiscent of days at Hogwarts, when a handful of her coworkers discovered that the ambitious witch worked much more efficiently than they, she became an easy target for absorbing supplementary work. For her, each suspected case of abuse or neglect of a magical creature could be a matter of life or death. The image of Dobby's white tombstone haunted her on days when she felt inundated with an impossible caseload, allowing the prickling sadness to give way to a sense of purpose.

Excessive chatter of idle officemates drove Hermione to approach her head of department one afternoon to request a private office after just a few months on the job. While recognizing it was a plucky move, her proposal was rewarded with a quiet (though rather minuscule) room just large enough to squeeze her desk and filing cabinet inside. She went to work transforming it into a war room of sorts, keeping everything immaculately organized in order to prevent any semblance of the former way her office operated. Each morning she tackled at least three new inquiries and resolved to finish one, attempting to keep her open cases pending for no more than a week. It was positively grueling.

Due to her unintentional lie-in, Hermione was running quite behind schedule. She was due to present that afternoon before the Wizengamot Committee on Lesser Offenses to fight the barbaric attempt the British and Irish Quidditch League was making to restore snitches with Golden Snidgets again. On top of that, she needed to pay a visit to St. Mungo's and interview the enraged witch pressing charges against the giant who unintentionally crushed her cottage. Hermione knew the poor creature was being harshly detained until she made headway.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, sensing a headache coming on already. _Merlin, how was it already nine o'clock?_ While she felt confident about her afternoon case, a trip St. Mungo's would need to be swift. Sadly, she'd need to skip lunch again today.

Just as Hermione was standing to leave, the door to her office was flown open, causing her to drop her papers in surprise. One of her best investigators, Mathilda Grimblehawk, burst inside and quickly shut the door behind her.

"Granger, do I have news for you!" she exclaimed, her face flushed in excitement. Hermione liked and trusted Mathilda, but her adventurous nature at times felt a bit reckless. Her reluctant admittance to tasting the Draught of Living Death didn't help her reputation. Before giving the witch time to answer, Mathilda clapped her hands and leaned across Hermione's desk.

"A Living Shroud. Here in London!" She squealed, delighting in being the first to share the news with the dumbstruck witch. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth in complete disbelief, flabbergasted that a creature of that rarity was even in Britain.

"But that _can't_ be –"

"It's true! Pruce told me Shacklebolt's new assistant found a nasty message sent on a cape in his office –"

"A lethifold in the Ministry of Magic?!"

" _No_ , just a cape. With the dark mark drawn on it., though The creature is still out there. Eaten two muggles already, though I reckon probably more once night falls." Hermione was stunned into silence as the witch continued. "If it normally preys on sleeping villagers in the middle of nowhere, imagine what it can do with a whole city of naive muggles. On a Friday night, too, there'll be loads of people out till the wee hours who won't stand a chance."

Hermione felt her blood run cold. While she didn't know too terribly much about creatures outside of those native to Europe, the lethifold's reputed violence made it a viable threat to anyone traveling to the tropics.

Smoothing her hair back with both hands, Hermione reminded herself of the mission she was on. Distractions, no matter how intriguing, could derail justice for those who were depending on her. Mathilda's scandal was not pertinent to her right now.

"Dreadful news, really, but I actually must be going," Hermione began, but a booming announcement requesting everyone in the division to gather immediately for an update interrupted her departure. Rolling her eyes, Hermione inwardly berated her colleague for stalling her. Now she had to likely go hear the more accurate version of what Mathilda shared and remain until her gossipy coworkers had their fill of morbid details.

The two brunette witches hastily made their way to where the rest of their curious colleagues were congregating. Hermione had her head buried in her bag as she walked, ensuring she had all the paperwork needed to go straight to the trial after her appointment. It wasn't until she registered the decreasing babble and burning stares of her colleagues that she felt the need to look up.

And her world completely stopped spinning on its axis.

Standing there, looking anywhere in the room _except_ at her, was Ronald Weasley. Hands shoved into his pockets, a bit more stubble to his face than she was used to seeing, nervous energy radiating off him in waves. While Hermione knew his hair would be short, it was completely different seeing it in person. Seeing him in person _at_ _all._ She couldn't help herself – she stood gaping at him until someone loudly cleared their throat.

"H-Harry, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice catching. Hermione felt as though she were two feet above her body, watching the awkward exchange at a distance. She felt incredibly rude not acknowledging Ron's presence, but he was doing a damn good job ignoring her, too. Besides, what could she possible greet him with?

Harry Potter remained her constant. He was the same man that she had grown up alongside – always kind, frustratingly insecure at times, hasty with making decisions, and unwaveringly loyal. He provided an undercurrent of steadiness she depended on. His eyebrows lifted towards her, acknowledging that yes…this was weird. And she sensed he was sorry about that.

"Alright everyone, listen! We've received orders from the Aurors that a Living Shroud is loose!" Hermione's boss began dramatically, stirring the small crowd of witches and wizards who had moved in closer to hear. Mathilda smirked and elbowed Hermone in the ribs, whispering a pleased _told you so_ into her ear. Hermione couldn't focus anymore – she felt stares practically burning lasers at the back of her head. _Did any of her colleagues know of her history with Ron? Why exactly was he here? Was it his gaze she felt so strongly on her?_

"…and so, Mr. Potter needs help assisting him with tracking down –"

"Er, actually, I'm just here to…um…provide clarity," Harry interrupted, gesturing awkwardly to Ron. Dozens of eyes shifted to the redheaded wizard beside him, looking as nervous as a first year about to face the Sorting Hat.

She saw him finally look up, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall above all of their heads.

A steady lump was growing in Hermione's throat as she let her eyes wander across the man she once knew so well. Was it grief she felt? Anger? A combination of the two? The feeling grew so intense she had to look away, feeling as though she might burst into flames at any moment.

"I need help," he began, his voice deeper than she was expecting. "A dark witch or wizard pulled this off, but I need someone on this with me who knows about lethifolds. Someone who isn't afraid of them, but more importantly, the person responsible for it." There was a steely edge in his voice, as if challenging the nerve of the entire department.

Silence. For the first time since beginning this job nearly two years ago, Hermione didn't hear a peep from her normally boisterous officemates. She made eye contact with Harry, wordlessly willing him to diffuse the uncomfortable air in the room.

"Alright, you all heard 'im. Who's got room to take this? Goes without saying, one of us has to." Hermione cringed inwardly at her boss's display of terrible of leadership. A few people coughed or shifted uneasily, but none volunteered.

She dared a glance back at Ron. His jaw was tightened, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Brilliant blue eyes still burning a hole in that same spot on the wall behind them. Hermione knew him well enough to sense his repugnance as time stretched on without a single person stepping up.

Responsibility began to battle with survival mode. _The longer we wait, the worse the carnage may be. All it takes is a patronus, right? They'd have to destroy it, of course – there was no safe way to transport it back to its proper climate. Merlin, this was quite the debacle._ The sensible part of her brain reminded her of the gigantic stack of creatures who needed help. It was only a matter of time before the healers would release Mrs. Hayhurst and her opportunity to poke holes in her statement would vanish. And there was no way she could let the Golden Snidget case fall apart - it would be ages before postponed hearings were rescheduled, especially with those pompous quidditch officials. London had enough Aurors, investigators, and brave civilian witches and wizards to take this on. Not much was even known of lethifolds – how much help could she really be? _You do enough work around here! Let someone else pull their weight for once._

Survival mode got her voice, too. _Get. Out. Of. Here._

Chest pounding, Hermione began to feel the cramped room spin around her. Her lungs couldn't seem to fill with enough air from the crowded, emotionally charged space. She was suffocating – that familiar dreaded sensation she had felt in this very office quite some time ago. It all came rushing back in a torrent of anguish.

His angry fist colliding with a box of files, papers scattered all over the floor. The fuming roar of frustration, sending her backed against the wall. Her shrill rebuke, mingling with sobs. Her begging, pleading with him to stay with her. To forget what she had said earlier when she suspected he was too drunk to comprehend, to remain by her side and disregard those words she so sorely regretted. How she longed to take back that stinging accusation.

 _"Just_ leave _, Ron! Might as well storm off for good this time. I'm better off without you."_ Merlin. What wretched untruth had set off such a destructive bomb. She had been walking around with a six-foot hole in her heart ever since. Hermione recalled how his wild eyes instantly brimmed over, the childhood insecurity overtaking his expression. The locket's condemnation. The person who meant the most to him echoing the same sentiment.

 _Better without you, happier without you. Least loved. Least loved._

Maybe this was it – the time to rectify what she said in anger and help him remember the truth. But would he even let her? Could _she_ handle a third abandonment from this man?

Harry's perceptive eyes pierced hers, relaying a message with no words at all. _Do it. Show him. Now._

Nearly everyone, including Hermione, jumped in surprise when a small voice piped up and banished the awkward silence.

"I'll go! I'll help find the beast!" came the triumphant cry.

Relief washed over everyone in the room. Everyone, that is, except the brown-eyed witch, her famous best friend, and (though he'd never dare admit) the man she loved.

* * *

 _A/N: Ah! Who could it be?! Follow or favorite to see what happens next._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: How tempting it was to push this story forward and just have Hermione and Ron get stuck together…but that would be too easy, eh? Nope. Planning on drawing this out. Let me know of any moments you'd like to see or if there's some kind of massive hole in my plot. Thank you to the kind souls who took the time to encourage this story along! I'm having fun with it…I hope you're enjoying it too. xx_

* * *

This should have been the best case scenario. Why did his heart feel like it was torn in two, lit on fire, and doused in acid?

Because she didn't choose him – again.

This fucking room with it's bloody marigold walls and cluttered desks made his skin crawl. It was as if nothing had changed.

 _Nothing had changed._

Gods, she was so damn pretty. Of course he had noticed her straightaway, walking in with her head hunched over as she dug through her bag, wearing the sort of skirt that even his wildest fantasies couldn't compete with. It was exhilarating to be this close to her, but also came with its own unique brand of pain. It was so different than following her home at a distance, keeping to the shadows and pretending that she was just someone he was being paid to keep safe. He now felt as though he was literally placing himself in front of an oncoming train.

When she recognized him, her jaw dropped. It was at that moment that he snapped his away abruptly, unsure of where to look or what to do with his hands or how to speak. Hatred for his boss and even Harry for being put in this outrageous situation flashed through him.

 _"Why did you ask me here just to make me feel like shite? Gods, Hermione, why can't you ever fucking make up your mind?"_ he had slurred, the vodka giving his voice a nasty edge. For the life of him he couldn't even remember what she said in response, but something possessed him to look her in the eye and retort that he hated her. That he _hated_ her. The look of shock on her face was an image he'd never forget. As if he had slapped her. She was wearing a navy dress. Her hair was frazzled – she'd been pulling on it as they fought. Tear steaks down her face.

Now she looked flawless. All of her, really, from her shiny black heels to the lightly wavy hair framing her dumbfounded face. A small part of him wished he was bold enough to stare back, to make her feel as insecure as he felt encroaching into this space. _Her_ space, as she had made perfectly clear on more than one occasion before they split. The damned department that gave her enough bloody work to cause her to lose herself completely, stripping her away from him from the moment she started and confuse her identity and use her up for every ounce of intellect and hard work she had to offer.

The morning after her mum died, Ron had woken up to find her side of the bed missing. Normally they would wake slowly, burrowing deep under the covers and teasing one another about whose turn it was to go put the kettle on. But that morning had been so starkly different, and marked the turning point of her escape from reality. He had planned on calling off work for at least a week just to be around with her, but she hadn't even bothered to tell him she was planning on jumping right back in to work. He had let it go at first, chalking it up to her needing a distraction from thinking about the loss of her mother. But it was only the beginning of a markedly different way of life for them both.

When he had heard someone else volunteer to help, he realized he was holding out one last shred of hope that she would choose him again. He knew her well enough to bet she still had a mammoth caseload and would have a hard time putting that aside to take on something urgent like this, but he still wondered if she might change her mind when she saw him.

But nope…the irritatingly priggish voice of the short boy in front of him was his answer. Ron took in his appearance – dark skinned, a bit pudgy, earnest expression written all over his face. He was shaking with a kind of excited energy, reminding Ron of a labrador retriever. Merlin's beard.

"Right then. Come on," Ron snapped, turning on his heel and beckoning him along. Getting out of that horrid office was his number one priority right now. _Get away from her. She doesn't want you. Better without you, happier without you. You were a fool to think she would still want you back._

* * *

Hermione fought the urge to call out to him, choosing instead to quickly catch Harry before he could step foot outside the large oak doors to the corridor. He was a few paces behind the others and seemed to anticipate her approach. He stood nearly a foot above her, but had a defeated look in his eyes as he met her.

"Harry, please look out for him. Elliot is just an intern," Hermione said breathlessly. The young boy had reminded her a lot of Harry, actually. Denied the opportunity to complete his fifth year at Hogwarts as both his parents were muggles (immigrants from Ghana), the young boy had proved himself a powerful wizard despite the assumption that his blood status disqualified him to be there. When he was finally admitted back after McGonagall became Headmistress, Elliot was already two years behind on his studies. Hermione remembered seeing the Hufflepuff hurry through the halls, bag brimming with books as he rushed to class looking a bit disheveled.

"Ron won't let anything happen to him," Harry whispered, a bit overwhelmed that he was finally uttering his best mate's name aloud in front of her after over a year and a half of averting the very mention of Ron's existence. "He's a better auror than anyone in our unit. This is some sort of bizarre challenge to see if he can handle taking lead on a crisis. If he succeeds, he'll have first pick of any future post in our department."

"And if he doesn't?"

Instead of answering, Harry breathed deeply through his nose and shrugged his shoulders, allowing the disappointment to finally show on his face.

"Finally thought this might get you two talking again. He misses you, Hermione."

 _Stop this at once. Survival mode._ Hermione couldn't keep standing there listening to this nonsense. It was crumbling the resolve she needed to get through each day without the impractical fantasy that he would come back and act like everything was forgiven. If he really missed her, wouldn't he have interacted with her _once_ in the past seventeen months? Pop into the restaurant when she dined with Harry and Ginny at the same place every single week? Send her a bloody owl at the very least? No, he did not miss her. The hope of that being any different hurt too much.

The lump in her throat was swelling to the point of pain as she brushed past Harry, sniffing back tears as she fought to maintain composure. The raven-haired wizard stood there alone, devastatingly caught between two people who carried so much weighty history that he couldn't make up his mind which one to follow after.

* * *

"Er…are you sure it's alright to do this _now_? It's only like, half past nine…" the boy whined apprehensively, eyes darting around the dark pub. He had diligently followed the redheaded auror, honored to be joining him on a quest to slay a beast that was terrorizing innocent muggles. He thought of his mum, likely watching the telly at home as she sipped her second morning cup of coffee. She would wring his neck if she caught her son sharing a pint in an empty pub while on the clock.

Ron's answer came in the form of a deep swig. The kid in front of him was only a few years his junior, but had all the trappings of a Hufflepuff eager to perform well. He had already remarked twice that they had better get started on strategizing the best way to capture the lethifold, whispering the word despite quite literally no one being around to eavesdrop. Ron wondered what the fuck he had done to let him tag along.

"Listen, Eli," Ron began before pausing, taking note of how the kid squirmed in his chair and clutched his drink with both hands.

"It's actually Elliot, sir."

Ron nearly spit out his drink. Sir?! They were at Hogwarts at the same time! Had he really aged so much as to lead eighteen year olds to call him _sir_?

"Elliot. First things first – you need to chill the fuck out," Ron began, taking a long sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Secondly, lethifolds only attack at nighttime. We've got time to figure out a plan. Just enjoy your drink, kid."

The boy's cheeks darkened, clearly not expecting the coarse language coming from someone in such an esteemed place of authority in the ministry. His mouth twitched, clearly unsure of what to respond with.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Ron ordered a second round, having to rouse the sleepy witch from the back room. He was still reeling from the encounter in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. From seeing her up close, nearly close enough to count the barely-there freckles on the bridge of her nose. Of course, he didn't need to count them. He had kissed them countless times before, admired them for years. He remembered how she'd scrunch her nose at him in Potions when he and Harry royally miscalculated, or in feigned irritation at his dirty laundry left round their flat, causing the freckles to wave in indignation on her pert nose. It was adorable.

The creeping buzz began to calm him down. He hoped it was doing the same for the nervous lad seated across from him. It was going to be a long night if he remained as tense as he was now. Ron wondered if he knew how to cast a patronus charm. If not, it was going it be an even longer night. He seemed bright enough, but with the complete dumpster fire that Defense Against the Dark Arts had been, he wouldn't have been surprised had he not learned. He downed the last bit of amber liquid from his class before making up his mind as to their next course of action.

"You hungry, Elliot?"

"Blimey, thought you'd never ask!" The rotund boy beamed at him, causing Ron to laugh heartily.

"Then I've got just the place."

An hour later, Elliot was helping Molly clear the dishes off the table as Ron sat back in his chair contentedly. Of course his mum was thrilled to whip up a lunch for her youngest son and his guest – with no children at home anymore, she was delighted to receive her hungry guests, even if they dropped in without warning.

"Now, dears, if you give me some time I'll be able to throw together a pudding – "

"S'alright, Mum. We've got some training to do," Ron interrupted, deciding that the longer he put it off the less time he had to work with Elliot. "Come on, you. Real work begins now." With a quick kiss on the cheek and promise to visit over the weekend, Ron itold Elliot their next task awaited them in the basement of the ministry.

"Oh, will we strategize for the lethifold once we're –"

"The _what?_ What did he just say, Ronald Wealsey?!" bellowed Molly, bounding towards her son.

"Thanks again, Mum! See you Sunday!" With a crack both boys disapparated, leaving his bewildered mother standing alone in the Burrow's kitchen once again.

* * *

"Miss. Granger, your point has been clearly made, but your argument is based off the misguided assumption that we can't simply breed them in mass if reintroduced to the sport. I assure you, if we were able to get a few factories set up solely dedicated to –"

"This is not an issue of _endangerment_ , Mr. Malchony! This is about the brutal treatment of a living creature for amusement!" Hermione couldn't believe they were still talking in circles about this an hour after opening statements for what should be an open-and-shut case. She knew the tactic of frustrating ministry officials until they simply gave up was regularly used to dismiss these sorts of disputes, but she would never succumb to such methods.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione triumphantly exited the courtroom with another notch on her record of successful cases. While it meant protection for the bird in theory, she anticipated she'd need to keep her eye out for those who disregarded the decision upheld by the ministry and choose to torment Golden Snidgets regardless. Perhaps a public service advert could go out if she networked with the right people.

As she rounded the corner to head back upstairs, she collided into something very solid, knocking the breath out of her. Strong arms flew around her waist, keeping her from slipping to the floor. Her ankle had rolled, causing her to grip the steady forearm as she straightened up.

 _Merlin._ She thought lightning couldn't strike twice.

* * *

When he realized it was _her_ , he didn't know what to do. All coherent thought evaporated from his mind and he was left standing like an idiot, his arms still outstretched to prevent her from crashing to the ground. The reaction was automatic, involuntary. She gasped, letting go of his arms to step back on one leg and turning her other ankle in a circle.

He snapped to attention. Was she hurt? Those damn heels were like bloody deathtraps. While she normally walked quite gracefully, Ron remembered how much she relished the end of the day when she could kick those bloody shoes off and enjoy a few hours of freedom. She sniffed and muttered something unintelligible, but he was too distracted to react. His eyes quickly scanned her body – eyes downcast, face flushed, both hands shaking as she gripped her bag. Her weight had shifted to her right leg and he thought he saw her grimace.

"Good afternoon, Miss. Granger! We're going to go practice casting patronus charms on the dementors. For, well… _tonight_ ," Elliot piped from behind Ron, excitement exuding from his voice.

Hermione started to lose balance and Ron's arms shot out again, steadying her as she hobbled to the nearest wall. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and her left ankle was poised an inch above the ground, clearly dislocated.

"That's – that's great, Elliot," Hermione paused to wince, rolling her ankle again in a concerted effort to work off the pain.

"Can we help you upstairs? Looks like you might have hurt your foot," the boy remarked, bending down to examine his colleague's quickly swelling appendage. Ron willed him not to touch it, sensing the stubborn witch's embarrassment. He felt it radiating off her, saw the redness in her face and the determined way she was attempting to inch forward on one foot.

"I'm fine. It's nothing," Hermione gritted, boldly stepping forward in an attempt to prove she didn't need assistance. A horrid instinctive cry of pain emitted from the girl, and Ron couldn't help but move forward and prevent her from falling a third time. He surprisingly found himself holding her up like a small child, allowing her legs to drape over his left arm.

She made a surprised sound in her throat and threw her left hand to grip his shoulder, clutching him impulsively. Ron could tell her entire body was tense, but at least she wasn't sliding all over the floor. He wasn't going to watch her injure herself more by doggedly edging against the wall to get help.

Ron couldn't believe his first thought was how bloody good she smelled. That scent nearly knocked him sideways, tail spinning him through an avalanche of memories.

 _Merlin, he missed her._

"Hang on. We'll bring you to the clinic," Ron muttered softly, not wanting to risk harming her further with apparation. He knew the first floor usually had a mediwitch on duty.

She sniffed and gripped him a fraction tighter, handing her bag to the boy walking alongside them. Elliot seized it proudly, considering this ministry-official business. "Out of the way, folks," he announced much to Ron's chagrin, clearing the lift for the trio to enter.

They otherwise moved in silence, with Ron staring straight ahead and doing his best to not jostle the woman in his arms. His right arm was supporting her upper back and his left under her knees. Where his hand made contact with her skin was pure overstimulation, causing his entire body to heat up. She was effortless to carry, but being this proximate was so incredibly overwhelming that he had to remind himself to breathe.

He glanced to his left, trying to assess the damage done to her ankle. The stupid black shoe that had caused her to roll her ankle seemed to mock him as they ventured further through the busy lobby of the Ministry of Magic. An angry pinkish-purple knot was growing steadily. Instinctively Ron held her closer, trying his best not to bump her leg into any passing witches or wizards. He heard Hermione clear her throat lightly – in pain or surprise, he couldn't tell.

At last they made it to the mediwitch's corner, complete with one kiosk and two plastic chairs. Ron delicately lowered her to one, simultaneously reaching around to pull another chair in front to prop her leg upon.

As Hermione explained through gritted teeth where the pain was located, it suddenly dawned on Ron that he missed holding her. His fingers longed to feel her again, to grip her hand as the healer removed her shoe and began prodding the offensive injury.

"Not to be insensitive, but shouldn't we get going? It's nearly two," Elliot murmured, discreetly placing the witch's bag in the seat next to her and edging away.

Ron didn't answer him. His attention was raptly focused on the girl below him, who was gripping her knee and wincing again as a series of spells were administered to the knot on her ankle. He saw her nod to each question, biting her lip reflexively, and he couldn't help but recall the irresistibly sexy way she used to similarly bite her bottom lip when he would run his hands over her, encasing her in a hug from behind. Or when he'd pull his shirt up over his head before sliding into bed, enjoying the reaction it provoked.

"Should be right as rain. Stick to flat shoes for a few days and give it some rest," the cheery witch said while helping Hermione to her feet. "Thank goodness you had this handsome lad to rescue you," she winked at Ron, causing both him and Hermione to blush furiously.

"Well," the brunette began, avoiding eye contact again with Ron. "I should be getting back to work now – I'll just head home for different shoes first. Thank you," she paused, looking from Elliot to meet Ron's gaze. "I'm…well, I'm glad you were there."

He swallowed thickly, torn between wanting to escape the tension he felt being so near to her and also fighting the addicting effect her presense had on him. Without thinking, he blurted out something that could have given away what he prayed she never discovered.

"Don't walk home. Apparate or floo." Ron wanted to swallow the words as soon as they left this mouth, but there was no taking them back. Hermione shot him a curious look before curtly walking away, a slight limp now evident in her stride.

* * *

 _A/N: I was going to wait in having these two interact but couldn't help myself. I'm craving some Romione!_

 _I've got a busy week ahead going back to work and getting some life stuff figured out. If you want more of this story, please let me know! Would love your thoughts, dear readers._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I took a brief hiatus after a nasty PM sent me into a pity party (seriously…if you don't like someone's writing, don't bother reading!) but I reminded myself that there are enough people following this story that I need to disregard the rude outliers. Thank you much to those who have taken the time to give feedback! You all are the best._

 _Here we go! Enjoy this chapter. Xx_

* * *

"Don't expect it will work the first time. My Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in third year – Remus Lupin, you ever heard of him? Yeah, he taught us. Well, actually, he taught Harry, and Harry taught us," rambled the redheaded wizard, ambling back down the narrow corridor where they had just come from moments ago. "But the magic is there. It's inside you, lying dormant. You just have to unleash it. I know I sound barmy, but it's really true. Wish we had more time to practice, but the next…erm," he paused to check his watch, "oh, half hour or so will have to do."

Elliot gulped. Ron knew the chances of him being able to cast a Patronus successfully were slim. Nevertheless, he was banking on the fact that the ability to produce the charm was most often provoked by witches and wizards put in situations where they felt their lives were dependent on it. Face to face with a dementor, Ron was hoping, would be enough for the lad.

"Now remember, you've got to think of the happiest you've ever been. The best memories you possibly have stowed away – start thinking of them now," Ron continued, leading them through a secure area with a nod to the surly wizard keeping guard. "That's where the power comes from. You got something in mind?"

The boy was breathing in deeply through his nose as they passed through a darker, more foreboding section of the ministry's lowest level. Though perfectly comfortable when first getting off the lift, Ron could now see their breath billow in puffs in the chilly air and wished he'd not left his coat at his cubicle upstairs. No decorations lined the halls after they entered a second set of double doors, echoing ominously as they closed behind. The Ministry was normally frenzied with bustling employees, but they hadn't encountered a soul other than drab ministry guards.

Elliot's portly belly was less noticeable as he stood a bit straighter, making him appear larger. Ron took advantage of the boy distractedly muttering _expecto patronum_ under his breath so he wouldn't hear him quietly instruct the two guards to bring them through the final entryway, straight into the miserable holding chamber for the few dementors that remained within the Ministry of Magic. Most had been sent back to Azkaban following the war, but a handful were kept on reserve deep in the dungeon, exact purposes unknown to Ron. All he understood was that the horrid creatures were available for training should their head of department require it, and Ron had blissfully been spared of any drills involving them for ages. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd needed to fight one off.

"Going to sound like a nutter here, but you should close your eyes. Focus, Elliot – when's the happiest you've ever been? Tell me." There was a long pause, and Ron walked to stand in front of the boy. His large brown eyes shone with apprehension, looking anxiously around before settling on Ron. His eyelids snapped down quickly.

"I'm having a hard time, sir. It already feels like there aren't very many happy things to think about since we came in this room," he muttered quietly. Ron didn't respond, but a prickling sense of insecurity flared up. He didn't feel any different. Had he grown so hopeless that the proximity of the dementors no longer affected him?

"How about when you got your letter? Or first came to Hogwarts?"

The boy furrowed his face in concentration. Ron counted to ten in his head before urging him further.

"Anything, mate? I need to know before letting them bring in – "

"No!" Elliot's dark gaze erupted in panic, causing Ron to run a nervous hand through his hair. The boy had initially been so eager to please, but this was clearly getting to him. There's no way he could let him stand before a real dementor if he couldn't even conjure one happy memory with the awful things out of sight, separated by a wall.

"Hey, it's alright," Ron began, voice already betraying the next words. "It's really advanced magic, hard for loads of people. Let's just get you back upstairs…"

"The day my dad got his job." It was said with such conviction that Ron couldn't help but smile in response. "He's a doorman at a real posh hotel, been working there for over ten years. But when he finally got it, my brothers and sisters and I decorated the whole flat. He was so glad, but not nearly as much as my mum. That was the beginning of better times for our family."

"Sounds powerful enough. Let's give this a go," Ron said with a pat to the younger boy's shoulder. With a short stride across the stone floor, he reached the melancholic wizards who stood before a narrow corridor. Flashing his auror badge, Ron requested the release of a single dementor from behind the thick barrier hidden several meters back through an opening the wall, promising to step in if things got out of hand. Though hesitant, one nodded curtly and flicked his wand, wordlessly casting a spell to usher in the horrific creature.

" _Don't_ forget that memory, Elliot. And remember to say, very clearly, _expecto patronum_. I'm right here if you have trouble."

He had forgotten how utterly dreadful they were. A sinister rippling black nightmare floated out from the narrow opening and emerged into the chamber, emitting the rattling breath he first heard so many years ago aboard the Hogwarts Express. The room grew icy and bleak, darkening, if possible, the already windowless area.

"Expecto Patronum!" came the gasping incantation. His eyes wildly took in the dementor, its mouth agape as it hovered over him. Nothing.

"Again!" Ron bellowed, his own wand burning in his hand. He was eager to cast it himself, but wanted to give the boy a few more chances. Elliot's arm shook as he tried again. And again. A guard yelled something behind Ron, and the wizard pleaded for a few more minutes.

"I won't let it hurt him! Come on, Elliot – _again!_ Think of your memory!"

The ghastly creature sucked in a deep rattling breath, encroaching near the dark-skinned boy. On his fourth try, a few silvery white wisps shot from his wand. However, instead of sending the dementor to retreat, it rounded on Ron.

The worst possible sound permeated his ears as the dementor ghosted towards him. An excruciating shriek, ringing off the stone walls in pitiful agony, and there was no mistaking it was _her_ cry. He would never forget it as long as he lived. Of course he knew it was a mere memory, but it still made his heart twist painfully in his chest.

As it's slimy hands and decaying jaw came into focus, Ron forced himself to concentrate. _Which memory?_ It dawned on him that this was going to be quite the task. Why had he not considered that _she_ would be in every blasted happy memory he had?

 _Becoming Keeper. Getting his induction to the Aurors. Holding Victoire for the first time._ Merlin, she was wrapped up in every-bloody-thing. Each memory that bubbled to the surface he quickly burst, refusing to think of her. It was automatic – he'd been doing it for months now. Betraying himself, he even tried conjuring the memories of the two _(or was it three?)_ pretty witches he had gone on dates with in the past year. It was an impossible feat, as he'd been pissed out of his mind when they had happened. _Who was he kidding? That wasn't happiness._

"Expecto Patronum!" Elliot attempted again, bravely stepping forward with his wand outstretched. Again, just a few silvery sparks – the beginnings of a non-corporeal patronus. Impressive, but not quite enough to dispel the monster.

That awful cry pierced his ears again.

"Fuck!" _Think, idiot! You had 11 bloody years without her. Think of something!_ Images swam about of his mum ruffling his hair with a tired smile. Dad helping him assemble his tiny model dragons on the floor after dinner. Bill and Charlie visiting for Christmas holidays and the magnificent food that accompanied the occasion. Wide-eyed Ginny gleefully witnessing his first accidental burst of magic. Lanky Fred and George letting him in on their latest prank on Percy. _Merlin._ Fred.

A sucking breath shattered his focus. _Fred, dead on the ground. Harry being carried in Hagrid's arms surrounded by Voldemort's encroaching army. Lavender Brown's mangled body. The state of the Burrow once they returned from fighting at Hogwarts._

And of course, too many bad memories fought their way to the surface regarding Hermione. _Her dead mother lying in that muggle hospital bed, all color and life already drained from her face. The vicious arguments and stinging accusations. Holding her hair back from her sweaty face as she vomited from pain at Shell Cottage after they'd escaped. The seeping guilt when she sought him out late at night following an argument, exhaustion fogging her conviction. Shaking her awake when her nightmares were particularly violent. Helping her zip up the black dress she would wear to her mum's funeral._

Suddenly, it was as if the phantom wail from the voice of the girl he loved tore through the fog. It was as though she were there, in that very room, being tormented by the same bastards that relied on these fucking creatures to do their bidding. The urge to alleviate that haunting cry stirred deep in his bones. Wrath permeated his blood, igniting something in him that caused his memories to open up completely. The panic gave forth to vulnerability that was equally as overwhelming, but at least he was able to channel the powerful emotion into something effective.

 _Her young face leaning over him, partially concealed by wild curls, when he woke up in the hospital wing at the end of first year. Taking her soft hand to dance at Bill's wedding. The giddy excitement on the first night in their flat. Catching her in his arms as she ran towards him at King's Cross after her seventh year. Skipping rocks together during the search for Horcruxes. That frenzied kiss during the final battle._

It was like seeing the light after months in darkness – glorious but painful to behold. Each memory tore at his soul, threatening to unleash the torrent of emotion he'd fought to keep under lock and key. So powerful, in fact, that the memories were almost like experiencing each separate event all over again for the first time.

While memories of her flooded in rapid succession, he allowed one to play itself a bit more fully.

 _"Can I sit with you?" she had asked shyly, her fingers grazing his shoulder. The air was lightly swimming with dust, illuminated by the sun streaming in through the windows of the Black family library. He reached for the hand on his shoulder and pulled her towards him, an inaudible answer to his question. She was so light, yet solid. He shamelessly breathed in the scent of her hair, his arms loosely wrapping around her waist as she climbed into the emerald over-stuffed chair and nestled across his lap. Immediately she laid her head on his shoulder and emitted a long sigh, tucking her socked feet into the narrow space between his thigh and the side of the chair. He drew long, lazy circles on her back before he felt overpoweringly compelled to say it. After just a few weeks of figuring out this new stage of…well,_ everything _, he realized he had neglected to utter aloud what he had known in his heart to be undeniably true for years._

 _"I love you."_

 _Her head lifted abruptly, turning to face him fully. Beautiful brown eyes shone at him above dark-ringed half circles, betraying her fatigue. They both simultaneously broke into wide smiles, but hers was unparalleled. A cool hand swept down the side of his face and she laughed lightly, meeting his gaze with unbridled delight._

 _"I know that, Ronald Weasley. Now kiss me."_

A brilliant flash of light burst forth from the tip of his wand, gathering to form the silvery terrier. It banished the horrid creature back towards the pitch-black corridor with haste, moving the guards to seal the barrier behind them with quickly muttered spells.

Ron felt ready to pass out, his wandless magic having depleted his energy entirely.

"That was intense," whispered Elliot, who shivered involuntarily despite the sparse lights returning to illuminate the chamber. "I – I did it. I know it was nothing like yours, b-but still…there was something, right?" he exclaimed in a louder voice.

The stammering boy was looking in awe at his wand. Ron recalled the pride and amazement he had experienced when first casting his patronus, but admittedly was disappointed that Elliot's hadn't manifested a corporeal guardian.

Alas, this would have to do. Ron didn't want to risk more practice on the dementor tiring them before hunting the lethifold, and it was likely beginning to get dark outside soon. He felt jittery and odd, like the first few steps after dismounting a broom. His mind was racing and yet somehow at ease. Curiously, he didn't feel as if he was carrying the same heavy yoke of mental trepidation and self-protection. Allowing himself to remember her, even if in brief, hadn't caused his heart to split in two as devastatingly as he feared it would. In fact, he craved seeing her now. Not speak with her, _hell no_ – but just catch sight of her. And maybe not just to ensure she was all right.

"Nice one, mate, but we should get going. Next time, think of that memory a little harder, alright? You'll need something strong. You ever fancied someone?"

* * *

Hermione dropped heavily into the chair at her desk, expelling a deep sigh she didn't realize she'd been holding in. She had narrowly managed to get everything accomplished and took delight in moving two files from the pending folder to the completed section in the steel cabinet beneath her desk. She arched her back and cracked her neck, allowing her body to loosen up after another grueling day. Back-to-back meetings had dominated her afternoon, but once most employees departed to head home, she had space to tackle briefing for the next day.

Her left ankle was still quite sore, given limited time to rest. Hermione slid out of the ankle boots she'd thrown on during her brief stint home, curling her legs under her skirt as she prepared to read through the next day's files.

An abrupt knock on the door disrupted her focus, but she lit up when Ginny poked her head in. She hadn't been expecting to see her dear friend, who normally spent the weekends in Wales with her team. Harry stood behind her, hands on his girlfriend's shoulders.

"Fancy getting dinner? I know you only just saw us, but –"

"But nothing! Lovely to see you, Gin. What a pleasant surprise!" Hermione stood and hugged her friend, grateful to be spared from a lonely Friday evening working overtime at the ministry.

As she was pulling on her coat, Hermione suddenly wondered if she was being set up. Was Ron waiting at a restaurant for them? Her heart began hammering in her chest. _No, what a foolish thought._ He couldn't even look at her this morning or after they had literally run into each other. The pained look on his face when he had realized it was her who he'd stumbled upon was still lingering. Why on earth would her most recent refusal to join him in a dangerous mission prompt him to want to see her? She'd been cowardly – one of the traits he detested most. And, if she was being honest, was something she detested in herself at the moment.

Neither Ginny nor Harry ever mentioned Ron, which she was immensely grateful for. How could she explain how distraught she had been, how utterly spent? That finding Ron standing in her office that night with his breath wreaking of spirits, slurring his speech, growing audibly frustrated with her refusal to put down work and come home ignited the ugliest side of her? If she lost that job, she would lose everything she had worked so hard for, not to mention the escape it gave her from the miserable grief and trauma that permeated her personal life. _No._ She would not tell them. Her friends were understanding, but she couldn't expose that horrid incident that destroyed the most important relationship in her life. No, if Ron had been kind enough not to mention the awful things she'd said, she would keep the secret, too. And Harry and Ginny seemed to know better than to press the matter. Even seventeen months later, her version had yet to be shared.

The three of them walked down the lively cobblestoned street, dusk setting in over London. Hermione wanted to ask Harry about the lethifold, but would need to wait until Ginny wasn't hovering between them. Though Hermione trusted and respected her ginger-haired friend, she wasn't a ministry employee and therefore technically was not supposed to hear about the details of open cases; however, she assumed Harry had no boundaries whatsoever in making Ginny privy to what went on with the aurors.

"Do you mind if we stop in on George? He might be free," Ginny asked, her tone less questioning and more of a statement. Hermione felt a desperate shiver run down her spine.

"Sounds great, Gin. Haven't seen George in ages," replied Harry, rubbing his spectacles on the end his coat.

 _"The_ joke shop? _But you're an auror, Ron! Most witches and wizards don't even make it past the first round! Has the training been too difficult?"_ The memory struck Hermione in the face like a splash of icy water and she slowed down her pace. Another heated argument, another sleepless night. He had brought up the idea of helping George reopen things about a week into her new job, sharing the suggestion with her as she was making dinner. She recalled how the roast had burnt as she tried to poke holes in his reasoning, aghast that he would walk away from all of the hard work put in to get to where he was.

 _"But it's their dream, Ron, not yours!"_ Charred meat tossed into the rubbish. Slammed doors. Angry tears. Pleading for understanding, from both of them. The promise not to mention it again. More tears. Then, she recalled how he had slipped out of bed when he thought she was asleep, predictably heading out to drown his troubles with whiskey instead of confiding in her.

Shamefully, Hermione wondered how quickly she could untangle from the dinner plans and get back to the safety of her little office or flat. It needed to happen before they got too close to the sad little space that once teemed with joyous patrons. The place that had further expanded the chasm between her and the man she loved.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione prepared herself for the deceitful show in her survival mode out on in times like this. It had been a while since she had to formulate an excuse with two of the people she trusted most. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry!" she began, feigning alarm. "I completely forgot that I need to bring home a few files for work tomorrow. There's a re – "

Ginny quickly interrupted, turning to the worried girl. Her gaze was difficult to read - somewhere between amusement and indignation. "We can just swing by after dinner! Or you and Harry can go get them while George and I get a table."

There was a brief pause before Harry smiled kindly and nodded at Hermione. "I can just get them for you now if you tell me where to look."

 _Blast_. They were either too kind or on to her – or both.

"See! Nothing to worry about," Ginny chided. "Though you really shouldn't be working so late. I'll bet the ministry doesn't pay you enough as it is."

The reproach reminded Hermione so much of something Ron would have said that she found the motivation to fully disengage.

"No, truly. I need to be getting back. I'm really sorry," Hermione paused, unable to take in their disappointed expressions. "Please give George my regards."

With that, she disapparated with a crack from bustling Diagon Alley and landed in her dark, still, empty flat. Her throat was burning with shame, holding tightly the irritation she felt towards herself. Another part of her sensed relief, having avoided an uncomfortable encounter with more Weasleys and the poignant guilt that would have nagged her all night had she not left.

Alone, surrounded by articles and paperbacks and textbooks, she could rid herself of the responsibility to attune her senses to the mystery of what might have been that swirled around her.

* * *

 _A/N: Already working on the next chapter which includes some much-anticipated interactions between these two. It might not be what you're expecting, though. Please let me know your thoughts and what you might like to see!_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Oh, you all make my heart swell with your encouragement! The hate was but a puddle compared to the ocean of kindness I received from you. Thank you, thank you. In return, here is a quick chapter! Hoping this will shed further light on Hermione. Grief can make you do desperate things. Trigger warning: might be extra sad for those who have recently lost someone important to them._

* * *

"Grief, I've learned, is really just love. It's all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go" ~ Jamie Anderson

* * *

"You know, I'm getting just a _little_ bit hungry. Are you, Ron?" Elliot asked sheepishly.

The red-headed wizard smirked, grateful that the boy not only embraced a similar affinity for food as he did, but also that he had quit calling him sir. After nearly eight hours together, Ron had grown fond of the earnest, good-natured Hufflepuff.

"I'm rarely not hungry, mate. We can get a takeaway, but we don't have time to sit down anywhere. Muggle London is absurdly massive – we have a lot of area to cover tonight."

"I know…my family lives in Edmonton. I've grown up here most of my life, except for when we lived in Ghana. And Hogwarts, too, of course," he answered, eyes darting around the street as they walked as he took in the plethora of options for dinner.

"How'd your family take the news? When you found out you were a wizard?" he asked as they made their way to a stall, pulling out the strange muggle money that still confused the hell out of him.

"Well…if I'm being honest, it was a relief to not have my family thinking I was some kind of freak. Mum's very superstitious, and thought I was some kind of cursed child for years. She even took me to a witch doctor in Accra, which, of course, led her to believe complete rubbish about me being demonic. They even tried to get her to sell me! Thank Merlin my dad had a bit more common sense. Still had a hard time believing it, but meeting Professor Sprout put his mind at ease."

Without thinking, Ron replied, "Yeah, McGonagall did the same with Hermione's parents." _Hermione's parents._ Thinking about them made his heart twist painfully in his chest.

"Hermione Granger? She's muggleborn, too? I had no idea!" Elliot brightened considerably at that news and missed the frown on his companion's face.

Ron shrugged and changed the subject abruptly, steering them towards a pizzeria. After ordering enough food to make up for the few hours since they'd last had a meal, they made their way through the crowds of commuters and towards Battersea Station. Ron suspected they might as well start at least relatively near the last sighting of the dreadful lethifold. The temperature dropped with the setting sun and a faint drizzle had started.

No new information had come in all day regarding the creature. No attacks that they knew of, no reported mysterious missing muggles under suspicious circumstances, no creepy cloaked figures. This was not a surprise to the Auror, who knew that lethifolds preferred to hunt at night under the shelter of darkness.

Two hours passed without a single sighting. Ron and Elliot strolled down dark alleys, crept behind rows of poorly lit houses, and continuously eavesdropped on the muggle police dispatch line using a magically enhanced disc player. Petty crime was reported by the dozen, but nothing out of the ordinary was called in.

They took turns listening in on the communication between officers as the other would keep watch, moving them continuously around the different neighborhoods on the south bank of the River Thames.

Finally, Elliot perked up. Breathless, he turned to Ron. "Peckham! Muggle reported someone disappear right off Sumner Road!"

 _Bloody hell._

* * *

"Crookshanks! C'mere!" Hermione was irritated at the ginger cat who normally met her at the door without issue. Her hair, already frizzy from the commute home, was expanding in the lightly spitting rain; it had taken her a few minutes longer to walk home given her sore ankle. Rarely had she needed to beckon the animal, but usually he was already waiting somewhat impatiently for her to arrive home from work, either pawing the door or scampering over as soon as he saw her coming from down the road. She made a clicking noise with her tongue, hoping that might lure him from wherever he was lurking about.

When he still didn't appear, Hermione let herself inside to make a quick cup of tea and find her wellies before going back out again. She wasn't pleased at all that Crookshanks was out at night in unclear weather.

Hermione toed off the boots she had worn to work and padded lightly into the unlit kitchen, but came to an abrupt halt and winced as she felt a sharp pain on the bottom of her foot. Pausing to lean against the countertop, the witch realized with annoyance that a infinitesimal stray piece of glass from the teacup Crookshanks had knocked down that morning was sticking out of the bottom of her stocking-covered heel. Hermione grimaced as she pulled the tiny piece of glass out, cursing under her breath.

Limping into her bedroom, Hermione yanked off her stockings and pulled out a thick pair of wool socks. Before putting them on she examined the sole of her foot, which only had a small bead of blood forming over the invisible wound.

Without warning, tears began to fall silently down her cheeks. Hermione hadn't even realized she was crying. But why? She wasn't in pain, other than some soreness. Work hadn't been terrible. Nothing had necessarily gone wrong. Why was she suddenly so emotional?

An image popped into her head from years past, long before she even learned of the Hogwarts. She had been playing in the park near her home during the holiday and a bee had stung her as she was picking wildflowers. Anxiously, she had run as fast as her little legs could take her to the bench where her mum sat reading a book, extending her forearm to expose the reddening sting on the soft, pale skin. She recalled how delicately her mum soothed her finger around the painful spot before extracting the stinger, lightly kissing over top the injury. Her compassionate face swam before Hermione, the memory so vivid it was nearly excruciating. _"Darling, you didn't even cry! That's my brave girl. Now run along and play. Don't let that silly little bee keep you from picking flowers."_

Brushing the tears brusquely off her cheeks, the brunette witch felt the all too familiar hollow space in her chest. The sensation never actually left entirely – the intensity just ebbed and flowed like a lonely seashore. The emptiness, compounded with the dreary weather and fatigue, led Hermione to crawl up the short expanse of her bed and curl under the cover of the heavy duvet. As she drifted to sleep in the semi-darkness, she dreamed she was still at the park all those years ago, making crowns out of flowers while her mother turned another page in her novel.

* * *

"Holy fuck," spat Ron, in complete disbelief of the scene left for them. Police lights illuminated the dark brick house in flashing florescent blue. A teenage girl, no older than sixteen or so, stood sobbing as she recounted to a baffled officer how she had seen a rippling black ghost engulf her father as she watched helplessly from her second-story window. Her dad, she shared, was fetching her school bag from the family car when she heard his strangled cry. A few elderly neighbors had come out in dressing robes or paused while walking their dogs nearby. Ron fought the urge to tell them go inside immediately and cast every

"Let's go!" Ron urged, pulling Elliot along as they rushed past the scene. "So it was spotted by that lady three streets west of here, the shopkeeper up the street, and was here not too long ago. Blimey, we've got to get someone here quick to modify all these memories. Wait a mo while I call someone from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes." As Ron dispatched for an Obliviator, Elliot frantically jotted down notes to keep up with the details of the mayhem.

"It's moving fast. Heading east." A nervous energy overtook Ron, but he didn't dare tell the lad why his anxiety was skyrocketing. He couldn't handle the onslaught of questions, but he _had_ to check by her place as soon as possible. It was a mere fifteen-minute walk away, far too close for comfort. There was evidence of the lethifold already consuming two muggles outdoors in the past thirty minutes. If it was able to enter a house, it could decimate an entire family and it could take days until anyone discovered it.

The two young men darted into the night as misty rain steadily fell over the city.

* * *

Hermione woke with a start, confused about not just what time it was but even where she was. That happened sometimes – the panicked few moments where she could have been in her childhood bed at her parents' sturdy brick home, or in her four-poster at school, or on the creaking camp bed in that blasted tent. On the worst of days, she thought for a few fleeting seconds that she might be pressed up against Ron's warm body, tangled up sheets and his strong freckled arms, until reality came crashing down and she remembered she was alone. Utterly, entirely alone.

Except for her beloved pet – one she realized wasn't prowling around the flat. With a start she hopped out of bed, landing a bit too hard on her ankle. Cringing, she pulled on her wellies and threw on her raincoat, realizing with dismay that she had dozed off for at least a couple of hours. It was close to ten thirty by the time she grabbed the emergency torch her father made her keep with her in case of emergency, checking to ensure the thing still worked after going years without use or new batteries. She wished she could just utter lumos and search for Crookshanks wth her wand, but the likelihood that a muggle could see was too great to risk it.

Pulling open the door, the brunette witch began calling out for her pet, growing increasingly worried that something dreadful may have happened.

He was livid – positively beside himself to see her trudging through the drizzle, in the dark, completely alone. Cars flew past him on the busy road as he sprinted towards her, disregarding the wary side of him that warned that this was a _bad idea_.

Her eyes widened as she took him in. Her navy wellies matched her jacket. She still wore the same ones, he noticed, that were simple and plain and so _her_. She still wore the skirt she had on at work, which looked a bit odd. The dark circles under her eyes were more noticeable than they had been this afternoon when he saw her last. She looked knackered. But surprised, indeed, to see him here.

"What are you doing here?" she asked once they were within talking distance, her question nearly drowning out as a bus sped by.

"Get inside," Ron hissed, trying to keep his voice calm. He couldn't believe she was intentionally outside when a murderous creature she bloody well knew was loose in London.

She just stood there, staring at him. As if she was seeing a ghost. It felt like she was looking straight through him, sizing up his insecurities. It made him angrier. A few seconds ticked by and he felt his anxiety and irritation both rise unbearably higher.

"I'm sorry – do you _want_ to get strangled and eaten by a monster? Go inside _now_." He hadn't meant to sound as menacing as his tone suggested, but her reaction dumbfounded him.

"For your information, I'm looking for my blasted _cat_ , Ronald Weasley!" she snapped, eyes narrowing at him. "And who are you to give me orders like that? I'm a grow woman and ministry employee, too! I'm just as capable of taking care of myself as –"

"Care to join us, then?" came the infuriatingly chipper voice of Elliot from behind him. Ron rounded on the boy faster than Hermione could answer.

"You shut up! You shouldn't even be here – barely experienced enough to tie your damn shoe laces. It's a liability that I even let you tag along." Ron regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he couldn't take them back. Unfortunately for him, the witch heard every word.

"How dare you! No one stepped up to help except Elliot," came her quick reply. Her face was set in defiance, droplets of water cascading off the hood of her coat. He noticed her fists were clenched – one still holding that silly torch. He was desperate to get her inside that damn flat of hers.

"I could do this all by my fucking self!" he cried in anger, causing Elliot to take a step backwards. "It's still out here…it could be anywhere! If you hadn't been paying attention, who knows how quickly it could come out of nowhere and suffocate you before you could get your wand out?!" Ron was shouting now. In the middle of the sidewalk in muggle London. _Merlin._ He knew he should calm down, but was seeing red. _Did she not care about her safety?_

"If you need help, I can –"

"Get. In. Side," he gritted, about ready to apparate her into that bloody flat down the street himself.

"Honestly, the more people –"

"NOW!"

Her look devastated him. It was the same look of exasperation and disappointment he had seen written across her face more times than he cared to remember. When he came home drinking. When they fought. When she told him to walk away and leave her alone. It wasn't quite pity and probably not disgust, but something in between the two. It was nauseating.

His voice broke as he tried one last tactic. "Please, Hermione. _Please_ go inside," he begged, not caring a bit how pathetic he sounded to the boy next to him who he had just offended.

Her gorgeous brown eyes stared unwaveringly into his for a few tense seconds, face completely indecipherable. He braced himself for the barrage of insults that was sure to follow, but she shocked him by turning on her heel and walking swiftly back up the street towards her building, leaving him standing in the rain. Despite being cloaked in darkness, he felt exposed – no longer obscured by the usual shadows.

* * *

With a bang, she slammed her door shut and slowly slid to the floor. Choking sobs tore through her body, making her feel lightheaded as she gasped for air. The quiet of her flat mocked her crying, echoing the ugly sounds.

That look on his face – it was as if he actually still cared for her. She'd seen that pained look when they were in danger, or when he was desperate – usually both at once. The way his voice cracked. The pleading in his eyes. It was too much.

Hermione wept bitter tears for the knowledge that deep down, she had ruined everything.

 _"You need to slow down, 'Mione. Process things. I'm worried about you,"_ _he had pleaded, holding her shoulders while she tried to pry herself from his grip._ Mum had died. She didn't need him to reminder her of that.

Or did she? _"Talk to me? Please. Those cases can wait, love."_ She had turned him down over and over and over again. Pushed him away when he pressed her too hard. Didn't he understand?! She couldn't think about it. It hurt too much. Missing her hurt too much.

Work was safe. Merlin, work was a goddamn haven compared to the nightmare of her grief. It vanished almost completely when she could pour herself out to help others. She could get swept up in the details of a case and the mother-sized ache in her chest would subside momentarily. The guilt of the missing years with her parents while she helped Harry vanquish evil diminished, too. She could breathe at work.

Ron – her handsome, brave, absurdly stoic boyfriend made her remember. He made her feel. She did not want to feel. It was shattering – harsh and unrelenting.

Hermione didn't know how long she sat there, looking dully into her livingroom and down the hall. She wished Crookshanks was there to curl up in her lap. She wished her mum was there to give her a hug and tell her not to cry anymore.

A shameful part of her wished Ron was there to scoop her up and carry her to bed. To make love to her like she remembered – fervently and tenderly. Just to tease her and remind her that she was wanted and enjoyed.

When she lost her mum, a part of her died, too. _Ron didn't want someone partially dead. He deserved someone fully alive._

* * *

They hadn't caught the beast. Morning sun beams pierced the sky as Ron and Elliot departed, agreeing to meet up in a few hours' time to proceed with the search. This time Ron was going to need to bring in Neville and Harry, and possibly a handful of others.

His eyes burned with exhaustion, muscles sore. He yawned loudly and covered his mouth lazily, unsure of where he should go.

Perhaps it was fatigue dictating his actions, or possibly the remorse from yelling at her like a child. However, deep down he strongly suspected it was love for her that motivated him to return to the dodgy borough she inhabited to look for that bloody cat.

It couldn't have been earlier than seven when he finally noticed the orange hair in the dim morning light, several blocks away from her flat. The half-kneazle was unmoving, half hidden behind rubbish cans adjacent to the shabby park. Ron knew as soon as he saw him that he was no longer alive.

Despite his disdain for the creature, his heart sank when he got close enough to verify that Crookshanks had died – peacefully, from the looks of it. It could have been a stuffed animal a child had dropped for all anyone knew. He remembered his mum had said creatures had a keen sense of when their end was coming and often went away to die. Hagrid had shared the same sentiments during one of his lessons.

He knew then that he had to see her. The fear he expected to be associated with that decision was replaced with a deep-seated need to assure Hermione that he was there for her. That, contrary to what she asked for a year and a half ago, he was not going to slink away so easily.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I'm looking back and cringing at the excessive typos in the last chapter. In my excitement to post it, I neglected a much-needed review. Personally, reading stories littered with silly mistakes makes it hard for me to want to continue in the story. Sincere apologies, dear readers, and I promise to look more closely before posting next time._

 _The last one was meant to shed more light on Hermione's side of things. Reviewers, you're totally right - there are no such things as angels. Fanfiction can paint only Ron or Hermione as chief sinner, when I think both would have had their own demons to deal with. They both are at fault in this story, for very different reasons. Grief, perfection, and guilt are terrorizing our Hermione, while bitterness, addiction, and pride plague Ron. A perfect storm. Like I promised, however, there will be resolution and some Romione sweetness coming. Just stick with me._

 _Enjoy this chapter. Please give a review if you liked it or have ideas for what you might like to see._

* * *

It was Harry Potter who woke her up.

The banging on the front door roused the witch from her fitful sleep. She had woken up twice – once at 2am and again a mere half-hour later before finally falling back asleep. It was nighttime when she felt most vulnerable, so sure of her brokenness. It had been that way even before her mum died. Night was when she hated most the shame of permanent abandonment and relived the trauma of the past 14 years. _But hadn't she partially done this to herself?_ Her mind was plagued with the same miserable thoughts.

The persistent knocking stirred her from the warm shelter of her bed, carried her down the hall, and brought her swinging the door open to her raven-haired best friend. His green eyes were gentle, coaxing. The thin, small smile gave her the dreadful feeling that something must have gone wrong.

"Harry! What's the matter?" She stepped aside to let him enter through the threshold into her flat and he took a breath, running a hand through his dark hair. Ice ran through her veins at the thought of the dreadful creature harming Ron or even Elliot, who she didn't know well but felt a sense of responsibility for. No, Ron would never let something happen to the boy. She had known the stubborn wizard long enough to trust that. Over his dead body. _Dead body._

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked in frustration, balling her hands into fists. He flinched, wiping the counterfeit smile off his face.

"Can we sit down?"

"Not until you tell me what's going on right this instant!" Under different circumstances, Hermione might have been embarrassed that she stomped her foot in childish indignation, but right now it felt justified. _Spit it out, Harry!_

The wizard let out a puff of air and dropped onto the sofa, patting the seat next to him. She made the three steps necessary to take a spot beside her best friend, dizzyingly imagining the worst possible case scenarios. _Couldn't be Ginny – Harry wouldn't dare leave her side. It must be Ron. Why else would he pay her a personal visit?_

The brunette felt before she saw the large hand gently cover her fisted one. Similarly to when Ron had carried her after their unfortunate run-in, it felt shockingly nice to experience physical contact. It was rare, these days, to be touched. The sensation was lovely but confusing. It made her edgy.

Hermione took in the expanse of Harry's hand over hers, knowing he was about to tell her something terrible. It made her wish she had Crookshanks curled up in her lap.

 _Wait a moment._

"Crookshanks!" Hermione cried as Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the little bell that she had fastened around his collar years ago. Fear was dispelled by a new brand of heartache. It hadn't even crossed her mind that something might have happened to her pet.

With a shaking hand, she took the lightly tarnished bell in her palm and heard the familiar chime. The sound brought tears to the corner of her eyes instantly. A horrid sound emitted from her throat as the reality sunk in.

Strong arms enveloped her, but it felt off. Like dancing with an earnest partner who just couldn't seem to get the steps right. Harry had comforted her countless times since they had fought off the troll that Halloween night so many years ago, but never so well as Ron.

"W-what happened to him?" Hermione sniffed, fighting off the sob lodged in her throat. Harry's hand lightly patted her back as they sat on her sofa. She began to feel a bit overwhelmed by his nearness and pulled back. "Was he struck by a car?"

"No, the muggle vet thinks he just died of old age," Harry answered, his green eyes sparkling with concern for his friend. "And I didn't find him. It was Ron. Found Crookshanks just a little ways from here. He let me know what happened and asked me to stop by. To ask -" Harry paused, eyebrows furrowing, before looking back into the wide brown eyes of his friend, "to ask if it was alright for him to be buried at the Burrow."

 _The Burrow? Why, of all places, would that be a place for her ginger half-kneazle to be laid to rest? And why, of all people, was_ Ron _the one proposing this?_

As if sensing her questions, Harry continued. "Ron thought it might be nice, since Crookshanks loved to hunt gnomes there and prowl around the place like he owned it. Molly and Arthur kept him there for a while after we went off – remember? It's sort of like his first home."

For reasons other than the death of her beloved pet did Hermione begin to weep.

* * *

His dad had come out to help him as the late Saturday morning rays washed the garden in blazing light. Birds chirped happily all around, but the gnomes were nowhere to be seen. Having a lie-in, he imagined.

Together they had dug a small grave for the cat but waited to place the little box inside until he heard from Hermione. Just thinking her name aloud was freeing. For months he had kept it under lock and key, painfully hearing it mentioned at work or if Ginny or Harry slipped up, or during incidents like running into Padma at the pub. He could go for a Guinness right now, actually.

With a jump, Ron heard a distinct pop as someone apparated several meters away. Molly poked her head out the window and gasped before hurrying out the door into the garden. His dad turned to address the visitor as a huge beam broke out across his face, arms outstretched to the gorgeous, distraught witch whose tear-streaked face made Ron's heart twist quite painfully. Arthur hurried across the yard to meet her and Harry.

"Hermione! Merlin, it's been too long. We've missed you, dear," he said tenderly, hands on her shoulders as he kissed her on the cheek. "You get prettier as time goes on. Doesn't she, Molly?"

Ron fought the urge to roll his eyes as his mum rushed towards the pair, pulling Hermione into a crushing hug. Harry moved to come stand by Ron, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. "They don't give me that kind of welcome anymore, do they?" he teased.

"Well, they've seen you in a year in a half, haven't they?" Ron answered bitterly, immediately regretting the icy tone. Harry ignored him and took in the scene before them.

Arthur and Molly were practically doting on Hermione, smoothing her hair and complimenting her and offering their condolences for Crookshanks. Ron couldn't hear her replies, but knew the witch well enough to understand that this was positively overwhelming her.

Almost as if in a trance, Ron found himself walking towards the beautiful girl. The light from the sun drew out the honey-colored highlights of her curls. She had an emerald long-sleeved shirt on over denims and her hair fell naturally over her shoulders. It was odd to see her dressed so casually, as he normally just witnessed her adorned for work.

His parents stepped away and she turned to take him in. He felt a punch to the gut when he saw just how _sad_ she looked. Horrid memories flooded him. He hated to see her like this. But that didn't keep him from walking right up to her, unsure of his exact next move but succumbing to the draw.

Completely unexpectedly, the witch took a step towards him and threw her arms around his neck, rising to her tiptoes to plant a kiss to his left cheek. Though it lasted merely half a second, the skin where her lips touched blazed. Instinctively he had reached his hands out to steady her, lightly holding her waist. They snapped back to his sides once she moved.

Her cheeks were rosy and she averted her eyes from his, keeping them cast down at their shoes as she pulled back. "Thank you," she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear over his mum and dad chatting with Harry. "You didn't need to do all this."

He shrugged, unsure of what to tell her. To be honest, he hadn't even done anything for the cat in order to please Hermione. He had done it because she deserved, at the very least, for someone to take care of things. They stood there a moment longer before he found the words to speak.

"He was a good cat. Protected you, 'specially when I was a git in school," Ron started, unsure of why he was saying all this. "And he always knew more than a normal cat, like that time with Scabbers. I'm sorry I was ever mean to him." Hermione's big brown eyes rose to meet his. "And I'm sorry he died, 'Mione."

She nodded solemnly, eyes glazing over with unshed tears. Ron fought the urge to pull her into a hug.

"Alright if we do it there, over by the flowers? Please don't say yes if you prefer him in London or…erm, wherever else…" Ron finished lamely, afraid to say _or in Cambridge, with your mother._ Blast. This was hard.

"This is fine," she whispered, wiping under her eyes with a curved index finger. "Thank you. He loved it here. Some of the best memories for both of us."

* * *

Seeing Ron delicately place the box into the ground and begin to cover it with small shovelfuls of soil reminded Hermione painfully of when Harry had done the same for Dobby in Tinworth. While their young lives no longer hung in perilous danger, she had been so much more connected to the wizards during those times of mad uncertainty. Life with Ron had been interesting then, too. The beginnings of their more forthright affection for one another had bloomed from that awful day. She recalled how he had beckoned her to him, holding her steady and keeping her close by his side from then on. The terrible experience ignited something in him and he became her protector. Nothing, however, could change the fact that their faithful friend had died, necessitating the seaside burial.

Harry was so much happier now. The anguish from carrying the burden of saving the world from Voldemort's terror had obscured the more laid-back side of her friend. Harry had a wonderful sense of humor and hadn't let the pain of all that he'd lost tempt him to bitterness or seclusion. His green eyes met hers and he smiled, not patronizingly, but empathically. She recalled how distraught he was when Hedwig was killed.

Ron's arms flexed with the movement of the shovel, careful to cover the little grave without too much force. Arthur cast a spell that sent fresh green grass to sprout up over the disturbed earth. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat.

Another funeral. Life still goes on for everyone else.

* * *

"Please do stay for dinner, dear," Mrs. Weasley shamelessly requested, after having refilled Hermione's tea three times. The kitchen table was laden with treats Ron would normally have devoured, but the nerves were keeping him grounded. _She was in his bloody house!_ It was like sitting across from a ghost.

After burying Crookshanks and agreeing to a spot of tea, she had stayed for over an hour to catch up with his parents as he and Harry played the part of offhand observers. His dad asked her about things Ron could have answered himself – what her muggle neighborhood was like, how she spent her time on the weekends, whether she had been on any holidays lately. Hermione also asked in return all about the grandchildren – a topic his parents could babble on and on about for ages. The conversation began to dip into dangerous territory when Arthur inquired as to how her latest cases were going, causing her to light up as she detailed the most interesting aspects of what she was working on at the ministry.

Pushing back his squeaky chair out in what he thought was a discreet manner, Ron stood to go busy himself elsewhere. Harry and his parents seemed enamored by the various tales of oppressed creatures who all needed her undivided attention. _Damn her fucking work._ Did they know that it stole away any opportunity for her to properly grieve her mum's death? How it mirrored any kind of success or failure she saw in herself? Or how it had ultimately led him to find solace in the bottom of an empty glass when the love of his life shut him out?

 _"Ron! What are you doing here? Someone might see you!" she had hissed as she pushed him back, causing him to teeter on unsteady legs._

 _"Missed you," he had confessed with a slur. "Come home. Please." Reaching for her again as she ducked back._

 _"Not when you're like this! What if my boss walks in? You can't be here!" she had muttered, clearly annoyed after scrunching her nose up at his breath. "Did you not think this through?"_

His facial expression must have betrayed him because she stopped talking. All eyes snapped to him – his mum looking disappointed, his dad confused, Harry irritated, and her… well, she looked horrified.

"Goodness, it must be getting late. Thank you so much for all of this, but I really should be heading home –" she stammered, pushing her chair back as well.

"Don't go so soon! It's been lovely having you here, Hermione." Molly argued as Arthur prudently added another toffee scone to her plate. Harry sighed audibly, frustration written all across his face. Ron wanted to smack him.

"Really, Molly. In fact, I ought to go visit my dad."

"Not till tomorrow," Ron heard himself argue before he could even register the words. _Damn._

 _Buggering fuck._ Did he _really_ just say that? Ron felt his entire face erupt in red-hot shame. He'd given himself away – he knew it. The slip up when he told her to apparate home instead of walking when she hurt her ankle was a drop in the bucket compared to this. He could not being himself to look up at the faces surrounding him, but especially not hers.

" _I_ certainly should be heading home. Promised Gin I'd clean the flat," came Harry's jumpy response. Without giving anyone time to reply, he was gone.

Ron leapt from the table and evaded the kitchen, wishing to be anywhere in the entire bloody world except for there.

Her words from seventeen months hung in the air. _"Just_ leave _, Ron! Might as well storm off for good this time. I'm better off without you."_

* * *

Molly had gained a renewed sense of purpose when those Weasley grandbabies arrived. Hermione had witnessed it firsthand when the older woman held the newborn infants and sang to them, and when the knitting exploded from an occasional hobby to a personal mission, resulting in tiny hats and mittens and socks always on the end of her knitting needles. She seemed to come alive again. Arthur, on the other hand, appeared to have aged significantly. The war had taken a toll on him. The wrinkles on his face grew in tandem with the loss of hair on the top of his head. He's grown skinnier while Molly put on weight. But deep down, they were the same adoring couple she always remembered them as.

When Ron left in a rush, Arthur audibly debated going after him. Molly intervened, asking him to help her clear the table instead. Hermione was at a loss, feeling the comforts of the old home evaporate as tension filled the air. Sending her discomfort, Molly walked around the table and stood before the girl.

"We love you, Hermione," she smiled, putting both plump hands on the brunette's face gently. "So does he. Now, please make yourself at home before dinner. We'll eat at six, I think." With a smirk, she turned to help Arthur.

Unsure of where to go, Hermione stood in the cheery kitchen that had hosted so many meals. She imagined Ron as a tot, clambering down the stairs from his room high above the rest of the house to take his usual space at the table. She remembered the first time she had come to visit, enamored by all of the magical trinkets and books scattered about the house. It gave her a warm feeling – even now, so stark compared to the home she had grown up in. The place just her father now inhabited was sturdy and classically built with modern upgrades. Elegant. Efficient. Clean. So unlike this home.

"Nice afternoon for a walk. Care to join me up the road?" Arthur asked cheerfully, wiping his hands on a rag. Hermione nodded gratefully, looking forward to an excuse to keep her around. Going back to her empty flat to pack away Crookshanks' food and toys sounded miserable. She would choose the unknown this time over guaranteed melancholy.

* * *

Ron apparated to the flat he shared with Harry once he reached the safety of the yard, furious that his best mate ditched him so casually back at his parents' home.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he bellowed down the hallway. Harry was dutifully tidying up as he said he would, carrying heaps of clothing to consolidate in a basket near the bathroom.

" _Me?_ You're the one who made her feel bad when she was just answering a question about work," Harry retorted, not bothering to look up at the red-headed wizard as he went about his task.

"You fucking _know_ what work did to her. It made her into some – some kind of _machine_. It consumed her entire fucking life!"

Harry signed angrily, adjusting his dropping glasses on the bridge of his nose. When the f word came pouring this easily from his friend's mouth, he knew he was in for it. Pausing, he turned to Ron and answered calmly.

"She didn't know what else to do. All that guilt from when she had to erase their memories and send them off to-"

"I _know_!" Ron shouted, reaching to pull at his hair in frustration. He remembered it was short so he kicked the leg of Harry's armchair instead. He was met with a frustratingly long moment of silence before his friend continued.

"When are you going to grow up, Ron? Quit thinking about yourself. She _needed_ you! She needed you to be patient with her."

"Oh, that's rich, Harry. Needed me? She told me to leave!"

"She wasn't herself!" Harry cried, rounding on his friend. "She didn't mean it! You know that she tried shutting me out as well? That for weeks she ignored Ginny, too? You would if you bothered to ask." Harry's green eyes flashed angrily as he took a step closer to a speechless Ron.

"It's not all about you! You're telling me you've never said something you regret? Something you didn't mean that hurt the people you care about?" A fleck of spittle hit Ron in the face as his friend raised his voice higher. "Forgive her. Move on. Whether you want to get back together with her or not, she deserves that."

Harry's words stung. Probably because deep down he knew they were true. And that truth was scarier than staying mad. Hating her was far easier.

* * *

Arthur had chatted nearly nonstop as they walked down the hilly road, enjoying the fresh air and warm sunshine. It reminded her of the childhood longing to spend afternoons like this with her own father when she was a little girl. On occasion, she would ride her bicycle to the park as her dad ran to keep up alongside her. He had always worked so hard at the dentistry that days to enjoy him were rare. It was easier to coax him into helping her with her homework or read aloud the books he was interested in. Her mum had shared once that they never anticipated having children, but that Hermione was a delightful surprise. While she wasn't entirely sure whether that was actually true or not, but never questioned their love for her. She did sometimes wonder, however, how much her father enjoyed being a father.

"Just over this hill here is a spectacular view of the village. Really nice place, good people. The boys used to enjoy going in sometimes to observe the muggles," Arthur laughed. His mind was clearly elsewhere as his eyes seemed to glaze over. Hermione smiled to herself. Arthur was a gem of a man.

They walked another few minutes before Hermione was compelled to ask an odd question.

"Did you row with Mrs. Weasley when you were younger?"

Arthur squinted his eyes and slowed his pace, again looking as if he was in another time and place. "Why yes. I believe we argued over which one of us should be next to set the kettle on this morning. About seven o'clock, I think it was," he mused.

"I mean… like _really_ rowed. Fought. More than just an argument." Hermione immediately regretted her question. As she was about to apologize for asking, Arthur responded.

"Oh, more times than I could recount to you, dear. We have decades of regretful words between the two of us. But we forgive and move on. Forgiveness grants us the opportunity for a new beginning. Molly and I have had many delightful new beginnings."

Hermione pondered that for some time as they strolled back towards the Burrow. Could Ron forgive her for telling him to leave? Did she really forgive him for actually doing it? Oh, what she wouldn't give to take it all back.

"How do you know when you've forgiven one another?" Hermione asked quietly. She wasn't sure she even really wanted an answer.

"It takes a brave person to admit their faults and an even braver soul to forgive, Hermione." Arthur paused a moment before continuing. "There is always a risk involved in giving a second chance, but there's risk in unforgiveness, too. It can be worse than the pain inflicted if it remains unresolved. You know you've truly started a new beginning when you decide the risk outweighs the second pain."

All of this talk of emotions was making her head spin. She never allowed herself to dwell on feelings of the heart. It was safer to attack problems logically. Even issues of morality felt more black and white than this. _Does Arthur know the whole story? Does he think I'm the one who needs to forgive his son, or the other way around?_

As they came closer to the magical home nestled among the hills, Arthur stopped. Hermione turned to the older man and was shocked to his tears in his eyes. He muttered an apology, and Hermione felt the guilt tearing her heart in two. He loved his children so much, and she had caused one of them unbelievable pain. He couldn't even stand to be in the same room as her, and yet was so wonderful. She thought of how awful it would have been if she had found Crookshanks herself. No, he had spared her of that. She didn't deserve his kindness.

"Mr. Weasley, I'm –" she began, but he held a hand up to quiet her.

"No matter what happened between you and my son, I'll always think of you as a daughter. Please don't stay away from us so long. Molly and I love you as one of our own." Arthur held back his tears, but Hermione felt one slide down her cheek. Meeting his blue eyes, she nodded shakily.

They made their way inside, but only Molly remained in the house. She turned to them and shared that Ron and Harry couldn't join tonight. The brunette witch swallowed her disappointment.

"Gone out for the lethifold," she shuddered. "This time, there'll be four or five aurors on it. The ministry can't let this go on much longer."

How could she have forgotten? Since their heated exchange the night before, Hermione had completely overlooked the situation with the creature. Ron must be absolutely exhausted if he had gone all night searching for it and then dealt with her cat that morning. Another wave of remorse washed over her. What a burden she was becoming.

"I don't feel good about you being in London by yourself tonight, dear. Would it be too much trouble to stay the night after dinner? You'll have Ginny's room to yourself." Both Molly and Arthur looked pointedly at her, eyes bright with expectation.

"Um, well… sure. I would love to, actually."

"That's that! How lovely it will be to have someone else in the house. It's been far too calm with just the two of us old bats." Arthur beamed, rubbing Molly's shoulders.

For the first time in ages, Hermione felt the glow that came with being wanted and enjoyed. It was like coming home after a lengthy and arduous journey to a foreign land – one she dreaded inevitably returning to. For now, she decided to bask in it.

* * *

 _A/N: Guys, the next chapter is going to have some RESOLVE. I promise. You've stuck with me long enough. I suspect this will continue another two (longer) chapters. Please give a review and let me know your thoughts!_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Grrr! This posted as HTML nonsense TWICE already. Not sure why. Hopefully third time's the charm._

 _Y_ our reviews kept me going, wonderful people! I'm so sorry this chapter took ages to post. I had a bout of writer's block and I was tempted to take this four or five different directions, but decided to slow it down and make the Romione conversations more realistic. I'd rather have a "boring" chapter than an action-packed, accelerated one that is lacking the attention it deserves. These two have a lot to work out. This is just the beginning. Enjoy!

* * *

The sherry was working its magic. Hermione found herself laughing louder and longer than she had in ages as Arthur proceeded to lose his fourth straight round of Exploding Snap.

"Oh come on now, darling! Next round is yours," Mrs. Weasley cried, gathering up the cards to shuffle again. Being the wonderful sport that he was, Arthur chuckled into his goblet and shook his head good-naturedly.

"Blimey, I don't stand a chance against _this_ one," he quipped, gesturing at Molly. "She's had the upper hand in this game since we played together in the common room." Hermione pretended not to notice the wink Molly sent Arthur, both of them clearly in another place and time. The older witch's hand reached out to take the man's, meeting his kind smile.

The long table had been cleared of the delicious roast Mrs. Weasley had made, though the rich custard was still being ladled out between games. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, cooling the rickety house. Hermione glanced at her watch and realized how late it was getting. She needed to ring her father and see if they were still on for their usual Sunday lunch. It was quite a trek with him living up in Bishop's Stortford at his new practice in Thorley.

"Mr. Weasley, do you happen to have a working muggle telephone?" Hermione asked hesitantly. The older wizard's face lit up but his words seem to contradict.

"I do have many _telly_ phones, my dear, though none of them are attached to the eckeltricity circus. But we can go into the village and request usage of one!" He was already rising from the table, obviously looking forward to the excursion. Hermione knew she could quickly just apparate back to her flat and call her father in a fraction of the time it would take to venture down to Ottery St Catchpole, but she would never dream of denying Arthur an interaction with muggles.

"Back in a jiffy, Mollywobbles."

"No worry, dear." She rose with a start, flicking her wand at the table and causing the remaining dishes to fly into the sink. "I'll just get some of Ginny's things ready. Hermione, please make yourself at home. Anything you need we have."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione smiles, still in disbelief that she was back in this house after so long. It felt like a dream.

As she and Arthur were about to head out the door, she heard Molly call her name. Glancing back, she saw the plump witch gazing at her with a wide smile stretched across her face, a pile of blankets in her arms.

"It's so good to have you home, darling."

* * *

Harry and Neville flanked him on either side as they rounded the tall gate of a small city park on the grounds of a primary school in St. Luke's. Multiple aurors were lurking in the shadows against the brick homes adjacent, wands at the ready. He had stationed Elliot across the street to keep watch and distract any muggles out strolling or walking their dogs, as it was still only early evening. Ron noticed that the small yards nearby had toys strewn about. There were likely a handful of sleeping children all along this road. The lethifold had consumed a sleeping homeless man just several blocks away before it was tracked to this location. This had gone on for far too long.

"Harry," Ron whispered harshly, noticing a light go out in the home across the road, "we need to get through –"

With a start, Neville dashed up the gravel path and blew the locked gate off its hinges. A blast of light illuminated the gloomy park. A horrific, rippling black mass was floating along the hill, barely visible. Ron felt a fine layer of sweat break out over his face as he followed Neville right into the path of the beast.

"Lumos Maxima!" cried someone from his unit. The creature was gliding in the opposite direction away from the light. The wizards were running to keep up with it. To Ron's horror, he saw Elliot racing towards them, brandishing his wand.

"Fuck! Go back, Elliot!" Ron yelled harshly, fearing that the boy would be more danger to himself than anything else. They simply had to put an end to this creature's reign of terror - it couldn't get away from them again this time.

"No, I can help! I did it earlier, remember? I _can_!"

Ron growled in irritation. He couldn't have the boy injured on his watch.

 _Focus._ It was easier this time to remember. Letting loose his barricaded memories with her when encountering the dementor at the ministry had prepared him for this. It still stung, but nothing compared to the raw emotion he felt earlier.

 _"Is this completely mental?" she asked anxiously, standing outside the baggage claim. Ron took one of her small hands in his own to keep from fidgeting, It was an absurdly long journey from Australia. The conversations over the phone once Hermione made contact had been promising, but would they actually trust her enough to show up and hear her explanation?_

 _"Mum! Dad!" Hermione cried, tugging Ron along as she barreled towards the tentative couple, both of them still unsure of they could even trust this girl who claimed to be their daughter. "I-I mean, Monica and Wendell. It's me – Hermione Granger! And this is Ron…the one I told you about." A flash of curiosity across their faces. Hermione's master spell work. The tearful reunion._

"Expecto Patronum!" came a shout to his right, and the glorious stag raced towards the creature.

Again he heard someone call out the spell, then another. To his left he saw a powerful blast of silvery non-corporeal patronus hit the creature, stunning it in its place. "Well done, Elliot!" he heard Harry cry.

 _Dammit. Focus!_

 _"Are you sure? 'Mione, we don't have to-"_

 _"No, no," she said breathlessly. "I want to. I'm just nervous, is all. This is, erm, the first time…"_

 _"Me too," he replied quickly with an equally nervous grin. With a shaking hand he smoothed back the tendrils that had escaped from her plait. His elbows supported him above her body, careful not to crush her, but she snaked her arms around him to pull him down. They both groaned as his naked chest came to rest over hers. She surprised him as she suddenly kissed him with fervor, keeping her arms tightly around him. Her tongue moved against his with a sort of nervous energy. Ron forced himself to pull back slightly._

 _"Hey," he said, eyes raking over her perfect face, "what are you thinking?"_

 _"That I wouldn't ever want this with anyone else but you."_

Ron didn't remember when the terrier burst forth, and he certainly didn't recall uttering the spell, but suddenly the creature was surrounded by six corporeal patronuses. The silvery guardians leapt and flew at the Living Shroud until the creature rose up into the air, dissolving into thousands of pieces before their very eyes.

* * *

Hermione wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye as she pulled Crookshanks' little bell from her pocket. She missed the ginger cat already. On a normal Saturday evening she would have found herself sitting in her favourite armchair with him curled up in her lap, not alone in the kitchen of her ex-boyfriend's childhood home at such a late hour.

Arthur had had a ball at the muggle petrol station as Hermione placed her call, taking his time examining row after row of candy, crisps, and biscuits. She kept an eye on him as she spoke with her father, who shared that a storm was due to blow through the next day and that he would rather postpone their usual lunch until next week to avoid either of them traveling through heavy rain. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of gladness at not having to leave The Burrow as quickly as she feared the next morning.

As Hermione sowly stirred her tea, she allowed her mind to play back the morning with Ron. The self-preserving side of her again tried to stuff other thoughts into her head, but the image of him digging that little square hole for the pet who irritated him all those years was unrelenting. The kindness in his eyes. The fact that he chose _this_ place. Her stomach flipped.

She jumped as various clocks chimed eleven times in a cacophony of sounds, and she decided to go brush her teeth again before slipping into Ginny's old bed. It dawned on her that it was quite strange to not have to fight seven other Weasleys and Harry Potter for the loo.

As she made her way up the winding staircase, she contemplated sneaking up to the very top. She longed to smell that familiar boyish scent, feel the worn quilt of his bed, touch the fading posters magically stuck to the slanting walls. Would she wake Arthur and Molly? She'd have to pass their room to do so.

Feeling brave and a bit insane, Hermione decided to chance it after changing into her red-headed friend's old nightclothes. Molly had selected an old yet barely used gown for the witch to borrow, Hermione assumed, because it was quite girly. There was lacy detail that Ginny would have likely tossed in the rubbish if it hadn't been gifted to her from her mum. She also pulled a blanket around her shoulders as the cool night had made the house quite drafty.

Walking as quietly as a mouse, Hermione tiptoed up the steps. She somehow remembered to widely step over the one that Ron would always advise her and Harry to skip, as it emitted a frightful whine that promised to wake half the house.

Hermione held her breath as she pushed the door open, expecting anything except Ronald Weasley standing in his underwear, pulling a shirt off his head in the dark.

* * *

He had been just as shocked to see her as she clearly was to encounter him.

" _Shhh!_ Hermione!" Ron admonished, taking two strides towards her and covering her mouth with his hand. "It's just me!"

Her scream, however brief, had still roused a disoriented Arthur, who bounded into the room with his wand drawn.

"She didn't know I was here. It's just me," Ron reassured his drowsy father as he turned on a light. Though he had clearly just woken up, the older wizard still requested a quick recap of what happened with the lethifold before heading back to bed.

"It was brilliant, Dad. The thing just…just broke up into bits and pieces with all the patronus charms coming at it. I've never seen anything like it. Still had to go in and make a full report, all of us did, before closing the case. Obliviators had the most work tonight, to be honest. Bet half the muggle neighborhood wondered what the bloody hell was going on."

"Proud of you, son. " Arthur smiled. "You look like you could use a good night's sleep. Goodnight, both of you." Arthur winked before turning to leave, closing the creaking door behind him.

A tense moment passed before Ron chanced a glance at the witch. She was standing stiffly with her arms crossed tightly, looking frightfully pale. Her eyes were glued to her feet and his favorite green blanket draped around her shoulders.

She cleared her through before looking up at him. They both stared at each other for a second before she spoke. "I'm sure you're exhausted. I should let you-"

"D'youwannacupofhotchocolate?"

"Excuse me?"

"Hot chocolate. Do you, you know, want to have some?"

A long pause hung in the air before she answered him again.

"With…with you?"

"Blimey, yes, with me."

Hermione smirked, glancing down for a fraction of a second. "Well, perhaps if you weren't so scantily clad-"

"Oi! Watch that cheek, woman," Ron teased before digging through his dresser and pulling his pajamas on. "Besides, it's nothing you haven't seen before."

"Hey!" Hermione cried, not expecting his retort. "At least I came dressed for the occasion to run into someone."

Ron turned and took in her appearance, allowing his eyes to travel up and over the girl he had studied for years.

"You look nice, but those are one hundred percent Ginny's."

"How'd you know?" Hermione couldn't help but whisper as they made their way back downstairs to the kitchen, padding lightly past his parents' room.

Ron turned on the bottom step to look up at her, catching her off guard. She nearly tripped right into him.

"Cause you wear sensible stuff to bed. Pretty, but not all lacy like that."

"…oh."

He knew he had made her flustered, and he felt a little guilty about it. Grabbing the kettle, he tried to make it up to her by fixing the richest, best hot chocolate he had ever made. The days of trying to impress Hermione Granger might be back.

He looked positively knackered. Dark half-circles rimmed his eyes, and stubborn as he was, couldn't seem to fight the series of yawns.

They spoke quiet carefully, not breaching any subject other than what happened with the lethifold. With steaming mugs in hand, they sat opposite at a comfortable distance from one another on the long sofa. Hermione peppered him with questions that he patiently answered, giving most of the credit to his unit.

Another long silence hung in the air before Hermione summoned an ounce of bravery.

"Thank you, again. For what you did with Crookshanks," she started, placing her now-empty mug on the coffee table. "You really didn't have to-"

"I know I didn't."

Hermione exhaled quickly, not wanting to ruin the nice conversation they had been having. She decided to start over.

"He was with me for so long. It's going to be weird coming home to an empty flat."

Ron had a curious look on his face. "Doesn't mean you can't get a new one. Maybe less psychotic this time," he teased.

Hermione looked him dead in the eyes, feeling hers light up with indignation. "It's not that easy. Some things can't just be replaced." To her horror, a few hot, angry tears leaked from her eyes.

Before she knew it he had inched much closer, placing a warm hand on her bare knee. His thumb pressed gently, urging her to look up at him.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

His eyes were blazing. The blue was striking, even in the dimly lit living room. They swam with concern.

"Didn't you, though?"

He clearly didn't expect her response. He sighed deeply through his nose, removing his hand from her knee to run it through his hair. Neither of them spoke for some time, until Ron nervously cleared his throat.

"Dunno what it's been like for you since we, uh, split up, but…it's been hell for me."

Hermione wanted to smack him. _Split up?!_ They had torn each other apart. She had said the cruelest things imaginable to him, suffered weeks and months of reliving that awful last fight on replay. Still felt like a part of her soul was missing.

"You make it sound so casual." His eyes snapped to hers. She thought carefully about what to say next. "Hell, I believe, would have been preferable."

* * *

 _A/N: I'm already halfway done with the next chapter! Please review and let me know what you think._

 _Also, I just started a new story called Anapneo with these two characters (and a little more Harry than my other fics). It's going to be quite intense, and I hope you'll follow along with it._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hello, friends! Thank you to rxnald.w, chemrunner57, notsing, ObsessedRHShipper, and JC RH for your kind reviews! Here's a quick chapter because I made you all wait way too long for an update last time._

 _Also, it would be so appreciated if you could go follow my newest story, Anapneo, and tell me what you think. I'm about to post a new chapter tomorrow!_

 _Enjoy this one xx_

* * *

 _"Ron! What are you doing here? Someone might see you!" she hissed as she pushed him back, causing him to teeter on unsteady legs. For a moment she regretted her words, knowing from experience how he might twist them to interpret some kind of message she never intended._

 _He squinted at the bright light as she pulled him into her tiny office and slammed the door shut behind her back. She couldn't risk another employee coming across her fighting with her inebriated boyfriend. "Missed you," he said quietly. "Come home. Please." As he spoke he reached out for her. She grew increasingly anxious about his presence. This was her sacred space. This was where she didn't have to think about anything other than other people's messes. She ducked back, avoiding contact._

 _"You're drunk! What if my boss were to walk in? You can't be here like this!" She could smell his breath wafting towards her, filling the room with the nauseating aroma. "Did you not think this through?"_

 _"I'm not pissed! Just had a few drinks after work," he said defensively. "It's already past eight. I was worried about-"_

 _"If I hear that one more person is worried about me, I might hex them into next year," the witch spat, enunciating every word. He made another move towards her and she covered her face with her hands, unsure of what to do or say._

 _When Ron was like this, she moved from feeling a sense of refuge in the wizard to a place that was harsh and unrelenting. The shattering of his new habit brought her a keen awareness that she could be alone and in danger at any time. She was on her own._

 _Warm hands gently peeled hers from her face. His gaze was soft but persistent._

 _"'Mione, we need to go home," he slurred._

 _Home. What even qualified as home anymore? The concept felt so foreign to her now. Mum was dead, Dad had sold everything and moved. Hogwarts had been stained by all the violence and terror – even the relative safety of Gryffindor Tower still perpetuated a baseline anxiety for the witch after she returned for her seventh year. The Burrow was wrought with grief for Fred. Their flat was now a battleground. Who was Ron fooling? She didn't have a proper home. This little office was the closest thing she had. Having him in there left her vulnerable - exposing to him the one part of her that wasn't failing at everything. She couldn't lose this. She'd never forgive him if he took this way from her._

 _She felt him shake her shoulders and she glowered in return. His eyes looked dead, unfocused. Suddenly, she was filled with fury._

 _"Hermione-"_

 _""Just_ leave _, Ron!" she shrieked, her voice rising several octaves. "Might as well storm off for good this time." Then came the punch. The part that she knew deep down was wholly untrue, yet flew so easily from her lips. "I'm better off without you."_

 _Those stranger's eyes disappeared and her Ron was back. The look on his face reminded her of the boy she knew from years past – shockingly insecure. Shattered. With a pang of guilt, she realized that he believed every word._

 _Gently he reached behind her, opening the door to her office. The realization that he was actually leaving sent a wave of desperation through her. Acting on instinct, the witch slammed her back against the door to keep him from opening it and grabbed his arm._

 _"No, wait, I didn't mean that," she stammered, a steady stream of tears beginning to fall down her face. Her strength was no match for his as the wizard pried the door open behind her, pulling his arm from her grip effortlessly. She thought about casting a spell to keep him there, but knew that would be crossing an ethical line._

 _"Ron, please!" she choked, unable to pull him back as he retreated. "Don't go! I didn't mean what I said, Ron…please! RON!" Her heels clattered along the floor after him, unable to keep up with his pace. Despite being a bit tipsy, he managed to move much too quickly. Even if she caught up with him, what could she do? The damage was done. She felt like the most loathsome person on the planet._

 _And then she was completely, utterly alone. Panic spread as she considered where she could go, who she could talk to. Everyone was connected to him. She'd made a life alongside someone who she had shamed. Strangely enough, Hermione knew the words she said in anger revealed more of her character than his._

* * *

"What the bloody fuck happened to us?" he muttered with a shake of his head.

"Ronald!" she cried, obviously horrified at his choice of language. They had backed into their separate corners of the couch, Hermione hugging a cushion to her chest as Ron nursed his second cup of chocolate. The witch had been shocked when Ron abruptly changed the subject. Nearly spitting out her drink, she had to ask him to repeat himself - minus the vulgarity.

He inhaled deeply, as if plunging into deep water. "Like, I get that you were upset about your mum and still processing all of that. And I know I was drinking too much," he began, pausing to take a gulp.

Hermione quickly interjected. "It was just…a lot. What we had all gone through-"

"But I went through that shite _too_ , Hermione! _And_ Harry! It was like…like you wouldn't let us in," he said defiantly.

Hermione sighed deeply. She hated this almost as much as she relished in his company. It felt so odd to be sitting up late at night with him. Their famous midnight chats were some of her fondest memories. It felt surreal to be doing this now, but was the most alive she had felt in so long. Her stomach knotted whenever their eyes met. Goodness.

"I didn't know how to help you," he said sadly. "Merlin knows I wanted to, more than anything. It just seemed like the more I tried, the worse it got."

Hermione allowed his words to sink in before replying, her heart twisting in shame. "I know."

* * *

Ron just stared at her in disbelief, mouth agape. "So…so that's _it_? There wasn't anything more I could have done?" He couldn't believe his ears. A part of him felt filled with hope, like he hadn't ruined the best thing in his life. Sure, it was still ruined, but maybe not completely on him. The chance that he possibly wasn't a complete fuck-up felt oddly sublime.

"Well, there was one thing…" Hermione said hesitantly, knowing she was treading dangerous territory.

"Spit it out, woman," he joked, but his voice was laced with apprehension. She paused, as if trying to choose her words carefully enough to soften the blow.

"I – I just wish," she started, pausing to pick at a thread on the cushion. Her curls bounced with nervous energy as she fidgeted.

"….you wish?" Ron prodded.

"Gods, this is so humiliating." Her face burned red. "I wish that you hadn't left my office that night. I didn't think you'd actually listen to me."

* * *

 _He hadn't seen her in two bloody days. Two of the worst days of his fucking life. Of course, it wouldn't be fair if he wasn't also making Harry's life miserable, too, as he camped out at his flat and sulked whenever his friend tried to ask about what had happened. Harry was no idiot - he knew the subject, but wasn't getting much detail._

 _"That's a nasty cut, mate," Harry remarked. Ron ignored him, but rubbed the tender skin around his knuckles, bloodied and bruised from the bar fight he'd had the night before. For the life of him, he didn't even recall what had made him so furious. Some words were exchanged with some diplomats from America, something taken out of context, someone telling him to calm down. Bright red fury, mingled with a potent desire to channel his heartbreak somewhere outside his body. Harry had to cover his arse with the ministry or he might have been sacked. Angrily, Ron rose to pour himself a second glass of vodka since leaving work an hour ago._

 _"Just go see her, Ron. What's the worst that could happen?"_

 _"Oh, let's see," the wizard began venomously. "First off, she could have changed the wards so that I can't even apparate into my own bloody flat. She could have me arrested for trespassing on her floor, and we both bloody well know who would win that case. Or thirdly, she could-"_

 _"Ron. Do you realize you're talking about the brightest, most sensible person we both know? She hasn't been herself. It really hasn't been that long since the funeral. She's clearly going through something, she didn't mean-"_

 _"You weren't fucking there, Harry."_

 _With a sigh, the raven haired wizard announced that he was leaving to go catch Ginny's scrimmage. Ron grunted in reply, pondering if he should just fall asleep or wander down for a nightcap. The latter won without much debate. As he was preparing to leave, a small grey owl appeared at Harry's kitchen window, contrasting against the brilliant orange and pink tinted evening sky. He noticed right away that it was a ministry owl._

 _Unlatching the window, he opened it up to let the letter drop into his hands. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the seal on the envelope – her department. Concern for her led him to abandon his plans without a second thought and head straight back to the Ministry of Magic. Scrawled in her neat handwriting was simply:_

 _"Ron, Please come see me. I'm in my office. We need to talk. –H"_

 _Fifteen minutes later, he found himself so aggravated he wanted to tear his hear out of his scalp. She wanted to talk, but she didn't know what she wanted. She was sorry for what she had said, but wasn't sure if they should still be together right now. She was upset by his drinking, but failed to recognize that her obsession with work was just as much an addiction. It was the most frustrating conversation he had ever had in his entire fucking life._

 _"Why did you ask me here just to make me feel like shite? Gods, Hermione, why can't you ever make up your mind?" He hadn't spoken to her like this in quite some time. It reminded him of the shallow, insecure way he had rowed with her in school. Jealousy over Viktor Krum. Jealousy over McLaggen. Over Harry._

 _"Ron, I-I'm just trying to sort out what I need. I don't want to string you along-"_

 _"String me along?! Hermione, I'm here! I'm choosing you!" he bellowed._

 _Tears streaked down her face. Her hair had been nicely pinned up but was now hanging around her face from where she had messed with it. Her hands were shaking. He wanted to hold her, to make love to her, to make everything better. But she was turning him down, refusing to come back with him. Telling him she planned to leave the flat, to give things a fresh start, whatever the hell that meant. The message, he read quite clearly, was that she felt she needed a life without him. "I don't know what I choose, Ron. I need time, I need space. It's too much! You just don't understand-"_

 _"You know what, Hermione? Take your fucking time and space," he spat, disgusted at how he sounded but couldn't seem to stopper his mouth. He took in her frazzled, distraught expression, the wild look in her eyes. When had they become so nasty to one another?_

 _"Ronald, grow up. This isn't_ about _you, I promise. If you could just listen to me for one moment, I just need-"_

 _"You know what? I hate this about as much as you do. We're done. Best of luck to you, Hermione. Have a lovely life." The look of shock on her face was an image he'd never forget. As if he had slapped her. While initially he envisioned that she had asked him there to make up, to apologise. That they would return to their cramped little flat and make dinner and fall into bed together and pretend like the past year hadn't happened. Not to turn this into another fighting match, to assure him that she didn't need him in her life. That she was actually better off without him._

 _He punched a large box of files on a desk as he headed towards the lift, causing papers to scatter all over the marbled floor._

 _"Ron, you haven't even heard me out! I don't want to be rid of you, I just-"_

 _"WHAT, Hermione?" he yelled as he turned around to face her. "What is it that you fucking want?!" He roared, causing the petite witch to back up until she was flat against the wall. Her eyes were positively wide in shock. It took her a moment to form words as she took in the sight of Ron's heaving chest, balled fists, and the office in disarray._

" _You won't even_ listen _to me! I've been trying to tell you that there's something wrong with_ me, _something broken. But you keep making things about you. You're so selfish!" Before Ron could reply, she pointed her wand straight at his chest. "Get. Out. Now. Leave!" she cried shrilly, before crumbling to the ground. Her navy dress bunched at her knees as she wrapped her skinny arms around them._

 _Ron stepped forward to bend down but the look on her face stunned him in his tracks._

 _"Enough. Go away, Ron."_

* * *

"But what could I have done? Just…just stood there? Gone along with the plan? It was so confusing, 'Mione."

"It wasn't fair to you. I acknowledge that. My expectations of you were completely unrealistic," she explained slowly. "Expecting you to be practically omniscient." They met eyes across the couch, both a bit surprised by what Hermione was admitting. "I'm sorry, Ron."

He let that sink in. _There wasn't anything he could have done_. Sure, he could have quit hitting the pubs, or ignored what she asked and glued himself to the spot when asked to leave, but even she admitted she wasn't sure what she wanted. If he had stayed, he could have pushed her away. When he left, that had apparently sealed the deal.

"I should have done better," he whispered, realization dawning on him that he lost the best thing in his life over jealousy and pride. "When you said to go, Hermione, I didn't bloody know what to do. I didn't know how to help. It felt like you loved your work more than any of us. But I should have tried harder."

They sat in silence. The various clocks in the house chimed again twelve times, all at various stages and noise levels.

"It wasn't fair to you. What I put you through," she began, tugging again at the loose thread. "But Ron, I couldn't lose that job. I would have gone loopy otherwise. I felt like I was drowning, unless I was working."

Ron exhaled sharply, feeling as though they were beginning to fly in circles again. "We clearly see our jobs differently. I felt like I was drowning…that's why I went to the pubs. When I was pissed that feeling stopped, if even for a moment. I quit thinking about what a shite boyfriend I was," he paused, holding his hand up to keep Hermione from interrupting. "This is an appointment, Hermione – a role for a season. It doesn't define us. At the end of the day, the sort of people we are matters more than our accomplishments, right?"

She pursed her lips together, meeting his gaze.

"Well, yes…I suppose you're right."

"Wait…did that really just happen?!" he exclaimed lightheartedly.

"Whatever are you talking about?" she huffed, sitting up an inch higher and pulling the blanket more tightly across her body.

"Hermione Granger just admitted that Ronald Weasley was right about something. Call the bloody _Prophet_! Ring _The Quibbler_!"

"Oh, stop!" she laughed, smacking the side of his head with the cushion. It fell to the floor and he picked it up, holding it to his chest as she had. The warmth on one side from being pressed against her body made his stomach knot in delight.

"I forgive you," he said quietly, taking in her rosy cheeks and incomprehensible expression. Maybe it was the hot chocolate that had made him drowsy, in addition to a complete deprivation of sleep. Perhaps it was the after-effects of the adrenaline from fighting off the lethifold. Or, maybe her intoxicating presence had a kind of power over it was, he suddenly found himself wanting absolutely nothing more than to have her back. "Didn't realize you were so lost. Hurts to think of how alone you felt, but I never stopped loving you." _Shite, you git. Took it too far._

She cocked her head at him, looking as if she were about to speak before swallowing thickly.

"You… you don't hate me?" Hermione asked timidly. The trepidation in her voice was enough to raise Ron from the couch to kneel before her, determined to make her understand. The sofa absorbed his elbow as he propped it up next to her waist, leaning in. She stared at him, brown eyes widened.

"My best day without you by my side was a trillion times worse than the most miserable day we were together. Like I said," he continued, eyes searching hers, "I never stopped loving you. Never stopped protecting you, caring about you, wondering about you."

She sniffed, looking confused. "But…but we didn't speak for ages. We hadn't even spoken until a few days ago-"

"Every damn night, Hermione, I made sure you got home alright. I nearly drove Ginny and Harry insane to make sure there was always someone to look after you. Scarcely an hour goes by without thoughts of you taking over, no matter how hard I try. I love you, maddening as you are. I always have, I always will."

Her hands flew forward, taking hold of his face forcefully. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, you had better not be lying to me," she whispered, watery eyes brimming over.

"It's the truth, love, every word. And please never use my full name again."

* * *

Molly walked gingerly down the steps in her dressing gown, careful not to rouse the presumably sleeping witch from her daughter's room as she passed. She wondered if any of her children would stop by for breakfast. George typically made an appearance, and though Ginny and Harry would usually pop in at supper. Percy and Audrey didn't come around last weekend, but she suspected they might decide to stop by unannounced. The pregnancy had been a tough one for Audrey, so it was easier for her to apparate over there. Just in case, she decided would make a full spread. The hens had been producing some lovely eggs, though a strange purple-spotted one had made her a bit nervous the other day. She couldn't wait to show Victoire.

How she longed to see the grandchildren – it had been several days since their last visit. Perhaps she could pop over to Tinworth and see if Fleur needed a break. Dominque was just beginning to crawl. It was a delight to see how gorgeous and brilliant they were becoming.

Still in a daze, the witch nearly gasped as she rounded the corner ad took in the most unexpected sight, one she had longed for in the fiercest, most motherly depths of her heart. A mess of brown curls rested atop the slouching shoulder of her youngest son, both fast asleep and nestled in the overstuffed couch.

Turning around, she ascended as quietly as she could back up the staircase, deciding that a little lie-in with Arthur wouldn't hurt.

* * *

 _A/N: Ok, one last chappy to tie up loose ends and some NEEDED m-rated interactions. Please let me know what you think. Hearing from you all helps the writing flow!_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Ok, there will be ONE MORE CHAPTER after this. Just one more - I promise! Please please tell me what you think about this one, though, and it'll help me crank it out._

* * *

She couldn't shake what he had said earlier. It just didn't make sense.

"Wait…what did you mean? About making sure I was home every day?" Hermione's heart clenched even as she said those words. Oh, how she had fought so hard to try and forget about the feelings this man brought out in her, for better or for worse. He had _just_ stared her straight in the face and said he loved her. Gods, she had melted. It took every fiber of her being to keep from leaning all the way in and snogging the hell out of him. But she refrained. This conversation was so very far from over.

The witch hadn't noticed her hands were shaking until Ron's eyes dropped to study them. His cheeks and ears reddened quite obviously. Despite how defined his features were, this boyish part of him remained, betraying him instantly. He paused, eyes moving back up to her face. She watched as he swallowed, his throat bobbing.

"You moved, quite literally, to one of the shittiest places in London. And instead of apparating, like every single bloody witch or wizard I work with, you _walk_!" the defensive tone in his voice was evident. It caused her stomach to flip anxiously.

"First off, it's _really_ not that bad of an area, Ronald. It's well within my price range, and not far from the Ministry. Honestly, it's not like I need some post place if I only go there to sleep. A few burglaries here and there –" she paused while he scoffed, shaking his head defiantly. " _Also_ , there are so many benefits to exercise. My hours are long and I appreciate the time to just…I dunno, clear my head."

They sat in silence for a long moment before Hermione realized he had avoided answering her question.

"Ron?" she began softly, daring to look him in the face. Despite knowing that it would get her nowhere, she felt the urge to press him on this. "Do you not trust me to take care of myself? Had I not proved that I could do that when we-"

"Hermione, I don't want to fight with you," he said so gently, she had to ask him to repeat himself. The wizard sat up taller on the couch, resting his empty mug on the worn table beside him, and wiped his hands on his pajamas.

"You could take down someone ten times your age. Your magic is powerful. I've always said you're the best at spells," he said, a smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. "I've even seen you throw a punch once or twice," he said, eyes gleaming. He paused, focusing somewhere over her head. His features darkened, reminding her of the picture that the _Prophet_ ran of him just days ago. She had several of those articles cut out and saved in that damn box in her flat. _Was that the same thing as him following her home?_ _Was she just as guilty of what he had been doing in secret, just in her own way?_ She broke her train of thought, focusing on the man in front of her. His eyes snapped to hers, full of conviction. "Hermione…I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you. Never, ever. I mean, you work on cases where the powerful abuse the most vulnerable, for fuck's sake. You hold bad witches and wizards accountable. You're not just some Muggle-born teenager anymore, and even that was enough to make enemies."

Hermione had to literally bite down on her tongue to keep from interrupting him. _She could take care of herself, thankyouverymuch._ A very small, very prideful part of her also didn't want to give him any sort of credit for watching out for her in the shadows when he had willingly abandoned her. She didn't want to hold that against him anymore. In fact, she felt liberated by the thought of just letting that go and moving on. But there was still something nagging at her, messing with her heart.

She nearly jumped when he sat forward, inches from her face. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, filling out the white shirt he had thrown on upstairs.

"You are a fucking _hero_. They're going to write books about you one day, I'm convinced." His eyes seemed to be searching hers, looking for something she wasn't sure he'd find. She averted his intense gaze, suddenly feeling quite overwhelmed.

"Hey," he whispered, breath hitting her face. With a sniff she met his gaze again. "I don't doubt you can take care of yourself. I did nothing out of pity. I just…well, I couldn't stay away from you, 'Mione."

 _Merlin._

With that, she completely fucking broke down. A sob burst forth and she felt her face begin to pinch, unable to control her emotions. Taking her by surprise, she heard a loud sniff from the man across from her, still so very close, and she realized that his reddening eyes were also brimming over.

"W-why d-d-didn't you just _talk_ to me?" Hermione blubbered, fully aware that her cries were likely making her difficult to understand.

"I…I didn't know how to. You had this – this _life_ without me," he answered, voice thick with emotion. He tugged at his hair briefly, reminiscent of when he would grow exasperated by their arguing. "You seemed perfectly fine, Hermione, with your schedule and your job and your, gods, I don't know… the whole thing seemed better without me buggering it all up. It's all I seemed to be able to do when we were together. Just made your life more miserable," he said sadly.

"S'not true," she replied immediately, noting the unsteadiness in her voice as she wiped the warm tears off her face with her hands. Her eyes stung with salt. Ron suddenly rose from the sofa, padding into the next room. She sniffed and looked up as he returned quickly, handing her a clean handkerchief. She swallowed thickly and took it from him, dapping at her leaking eyes.

"I worked s-so hard," she hiccuped, "because I needed the distraction from thinking about _mum_." She whispered the last word almost reverently in an effort to hold back the sob held captive in her throat. _Keep it together, Hermione._ A few tears fell freely down his face when she said that, and his left hand darted out to take hers firmly. She squeezed it back gratefully, ignoring the voice in her head that was screaming _survival mode_. "And I suppose…well, the drinking was an escape for you, too...right? You never did that before."

He nodded solemnly and squeezed her hand again. "Wish I told you that habit died when we broke up."

"Did I cause it?"

He exhaled deeply, dropping her hand to rub his face.

"Not…not exactly, I don't think. Everything just caught up to us. We never got the chance to process what happened the years before. Never knowing when someone else would die or go missing, watching Harry go through hell. Carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders. We were just kids, Hermione. Still hurts to think about all that happened, you know? Don't think it was just you…" he murmured, avoiding her eyes.

"Well, I certainly didn't help, did I?" Her voice suddenly broke and she stopped caring anymore, weeping uncontrollably as all of the ache and trauma and hurt that had shattered their world came flooding in.

 _Gods, she was a mess._ Before she could react, he had shifted closer and pulled her to his chest, absorbing her whacking sobs. Strong hands soothed up and down her back, across, and back again. She felt him shudder, too.

She cried for how embarrassed she was, sitting there in his parents' home and completely losing her shit in front of her ex-boyfriend. She cried because he was her _ex-boyfriend_. She cried for the hurt and misery they had caused one another. She cried for her dead mum. She cried for the way she had spat hatred at Ron in anger. She cried for the longing to be wanted and enjoyed again. She cried for fear and rejection that had led to so much shame since losing him. She even cried for her dead cat. And finally, she cried at the realization that once she _stopped_ crying, his arms might never hold her like this again.

But he didn't let go. Minutes passed before her gasping breaths evened out, turning to whimpers, and then to sniffs. Her eyes were sealed shut, swollen and sore. If it hadn't been Ron, _her_ Ron, who watched her come apart, she might have been a little more embarrassed at the mixture of snot and tears that had inadvertently been rubbed into his shirt as she held on to him. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. They were already broken up, and up until this night, she has assumed he hated her guts. _What did she really have to lose?_ His hands never stopped tracing her back, providing steady pressure as she purged all of the pent up emotion.

Hermione grew quite warm all of a sudden, wondering if she was making him uncomfortable. Of course, he had to be exhausted, but he couldn't have imagined his evening would end up with a weeping witch practically on his lap. She pulled back, forcing him to loosen his hold on her. His heavy blue eyes swam with concern, red streaks leading down to his chiseled jaw giving him away. Ever stoic, but this had affected him as well. There was no denying that.

Keeping one hand securely on the small of her back, the other eased to his chest to take one of her hands gently. The pad of his thumb skimmed her knuckles tenderly. He was so gentle, so attuned to what she needed, that she nearly kissed him. Before she could come up with words to respond to what had just happened, he was bending over to reach for the green blanket that had slunk to the floor. Keeping her one hand securely in his, he managed to reposition them so that they were both cuddled into one corner of the sofa, draping the worn blanket over their bodies.

Hermione sighed deeply and sunk into the cushion, relishing the solid firmness of his side against hers. Without thinking twice, she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She heard Ron utter a spell to dim all the lights, enveloping them in darkness. The witch succumbed to the lightheaded, hollow feeling that comes from a long, good cry, and allowed herself to fall asleep with her hand intertwined with Ronald Weasley's.

* * *

Ron woke up utterly confused. His body felt tense and heavy, his eyelids incredibly sore. It took a few seconds to remember why he felt so shitty.

The gorgeous witch was plastered to his side, fingers interlocked loosely with his right hand. Her hair was wild, and the lacy clothes she had borrowed from Ginny's abandoned wardrobe had shifted in her sleep, revealing one creamy shoulder. He gulped.

 _What the buggering fuck had happened?_

Seeing her come completely undone had shattered his heart, and yet, it felt so cathartic to see her _feel_. The immaculately professional image, the steady expressions, her measured tone. He had hated how artificial she seemed in those last few months they were together, as if he was living with an imposter. Hermione had always been logical, sensible – but she had never buried her emotions so rigidly from him (or _anyone_ , for that matter) like she had then.

He suddenly wondered what time it was. Sure, he hadn't had a good night of sleep in ages, but the past few nights were especially deprived with the lethifold case. He wanted to stretch, but was terrified of waking the sleeping witch beside him.

Craning his neck, Ron caught a glimpse of the clock on the mantle. _Merlin, it was nearly noon!_ How had his mum not roused them?

 _Shite. She must have seen them._

Sighing, the red-headed wizard closed his eyes and leaned back, resting his head against the back of the couch again. The girl beside him shifted ever so slightly, flexing her fingers lightly against his. The contact felt electric. He missed holding her perfect hand.

She had apologized. She admitted to things he had long suspected for ages, but to hear her say them aloud – it somehow made all those months of anger and bitterness nearly evaporate. Her life was as lonely as his was, only she painted it up and made it look like less of a wreck. And what he couldn't get over, the part that still knocked him sideways, was that he had allowed himself to admit that he still loved her. That he had never stopped loving her.

She didn't reciprocate, though. That stung, but he tried to shrug it off. If she left his house today and they just simply moved from ground zero to speaking terms, he'd take it. His heart would break in two all over again, but he'd bloody well take it. Talking with her, even through tears and anguish, was better than not speaking at all. He couldn't go back to that…he refused.

Despite hours and days and weeks and months of training himself to stuff them out, he gradually allowed himself to think back to those final days.

 _"Oh, sorry," she muttered, having unlocked the door to their nearly empty flat and clearly not expecting him to be standing there. It was painfully obvious by the look on her face. Her hair was pinned up, her dress pressed. She must have had a hearing today._

 _He grunted awkwardly in response, turning to quickly gather the few remaining bags that contained his possessions. The air had been sucked out of the small room, and the depressing remaining furniture that they'd accumulated together was clearly being abandoned by both of them._

 _Her heard her heels click down the short hallway and into the bedroom they had shared up until two nights ago. Should he just leave now?_

 _Quietly, he followed her against his better judgment. His trainers were to his advantage, she obviously didn't hear him. He stood in the doorway and watched as she walked slowly around the bit of space between their shared bed and the wall, sitting down gracefully with her back to him. She slouched, resting her head in her hands. She sat there for ages, on the edge of that white bed with the old, beat up walls that he said he would paint but never got around to. He watched as she just sat there. Not doing anything, not saying anything. Not moving. Just breathing. Just sitting there were her face buried in her hands._

 _He couldn't live life like this. He couldn't stand there like a fucking vigil._

What he _wished_ he had done, so very desperately, and what he had been on the verge of doing and just _didn't_ , was to go sit with her. To let her bury her face in her hands or against his shoulder or on his chest or whatever she fucking wanted to do, and wait it out with her. To let that grief, that was stealing her vulnerability and joy away, just join them in that moment, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He should have sat on that bed for however long she needed him to, instead of turning in revulsion to disapparate out of her life and leaving her alone.

He snapped back to reality as he heard the door creak open, his father trying his very hardest not to make a peep as he inched inside. His tired eyes met his and he noticed his father's pitiful attempt to mask his smile.

"Just getting water, son," he mouthed, gesturing dramatically at the sink. Ron rolled his eyes, already dreading the conversation he'd have with him once the two were alone. A light battering around in the kitchen caused Hermione to stir, but she was still clearly fast asleep. He expected his dad would be tinkering around in his shed, still his most favorite weekend pastime. Mum was probably at Bill or Percy's, getting time with the grandkids. _Thank Merlin._

His dad inched back outside but not before giving his son a sly wink, puling the door shut behind him. Ron rolled his eyes, not quite embarrassed by what his father had seen, but allowing the reality to set in that this was really happening.

She was _here_. Prettier than ever, a bit more grown up, but too skinny for his liking. Still witty, still kind and polite to his parents. Still fierce. Still a bit of a mess. But he goddamn loved her more than he ever thought possible, as he glanced down to watch the gentle rise and fall of her even breathing. The pink color of those silly bedclothes bought out the beauty in her skin tone, and he studied the faint freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose.

He resolved to sit there with her as long as she needed.

* * *

Hermione yawned lazily, unfamiliar with amount of light that was blinding her even behind closed eyelids. _Why was it so quiet?_

With a start, she sat straight up. The stillness of the room was nothing like the loud, rumbling city soundtrack she was accustomed to. She was warm. She was…

 _Shit._

"Hey," Ron whispered, his voice endearingly scratchy. "Didn't wanna wake you." He was right next to her, so close that her entire left side made contact with his right. His hair was adorably tousled. _They had fallen asleep here. He had stayed._

The witch pulled her hand away from his and smoothed back her hair reflexively, missing the feeling of his long fingers as soon as she moved. She was mortified to see that the silky top had shifted fully to one side in her sleep, revealing far too much of her neckline.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily, realizing that this was likely the best night of uninterrupted sleep she had experienced in over a year.

"Erm…12:30," he replied, a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Do you want some breakfast? Well, s'pose it's lunch by now."

Hermione sat there, unsure of what to do or say. Was he just being polite? Should she just thank him and head home? It had been over 24 hours and she was still here, having far outworn her welcome.

"I should get going, really. You've probably got plenty of other things – "

Ron must have sensed that she was over thinking, because he stood and pulled her up unceremoniously by the hands. "If you want, you can go change or brush your teeth or whatever, and I'll see what food we have around." Hermione just stared at him blankly. _What was wrong with her?_ She felt frozen, unable to make a decision. She wanted to badly to stay, but this was treading dangerous territory. Where they stood with one another still felt unclear.

He exhaled quickly, then gently tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. His expression was intense – like he could see straight to her insecurities and was sizing them up. "Stay. You can go if you need to, but I'd like you to stay."

She nodded slowly, unable to fight the smile that broke out across her face. Yes, she wanted this.

* * *

He couldn't believe it. He was walking down up the hill to the old makeshift quidditch pitch, where he had spent hours with his brothers and sister, next to Hermione Granger. She was still there. She was smiling, and laughing, and teasing him. He pinched himself more than once.

After making a mess of his mum's kitchen, Hermione had come downstairs in the outfit she had worn yesterday, but freshened up and livelier than he had seen her in Merlin knows when. Tutting at him, she whisked away the dishes he'd dirtied up and laughed at the ginormous sandwiches he had thrown together, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him so casually.

Her laughter was fucking magical.

After he had bounded back down the stairs in fresh clothes, she agreed to a walk outside with him easily, remarking about how glorious the weather was in Devon. They stood close to one another, but didn't make contact. He decided to let her make the first move. He didn't want to press her. They had all the time in the bloody world.

Both breathing heavily, they finally crested the knoll. Her hair caught the sunlight, highlighting the honey-colored strands. Ron couldn't peel his eyes away.

"Goodness, this place hasn't changed, has it? I remember how terrified I was watching you all from down here," she laughed, eyes roaming around the familiar oval of grass. Without warning she dropped to the ground, sitting on her bum and learning back on her elbows. Her eyes closed as she let the sun kiss her face.

Ron gulped, nerves suddenly getting the better of him.

"C'mere, silly," she chuckled, patting the earth next to her. She was shielding the sun from her eyes but attempting to look up at him, chocolate eyes swimming with amusement.

He crouched down, keeping a few inches between them as he stretched out on the lawn. A breeze suddenly swept through the valley. Neither spoke for several moments.

"Ron," she said suddenly, her voice clear and purposeful. He looked over, meeting her gaze. "Thanks for being so wonderful last night. I'm sorry I –"

He shushed her, refusing an apology for what happened. She sighed, clucking her tongue.

"Okay, let me start over, then. Thank you for being there," she paused, fixated on a blade of grass near his trainer. "I appreciate it, more than I can tell you."

He studied her face and noticed her brow was furrowed. She looked conflicted about something. He wished, more than anything, that he could get inside that brilliant mind of hers and see what she was thinking.

"I know that what happened between us was, well…"

"Terrible?" he asked, trying to be helpful. He was met with a playful smirk.

"Awkward."

"Stupid."

"Ridiculous!"

"Bullocks."

"Ron!" she hit him across the shoulder, causing him to tumble back on his elbows next to her. She leaned towards him, clearly not at all sorry for what she had done. "Take it back!"

'Take what back?"

"What you just said, you prat!"

He laughed, delighted to get a rise out of her. He sat up, looking her square in the face. "Go on. I get the point."

She pursed her lips, eyes roaming over his face. Thinking very hard of what to say next, he could tell. Suddenly, he was knocked onto his back as she hurled herself over him and attacked him with her lips.

Fireworks went off in his head and he was momentarily blinded by what just happened. He felt her soft lips on his, persistently moving against his with fervor. Their torsos collided, and he felt her chest slide against him with her frenzied movement. It took about three full seconds for him to register what was happening before he reacted, arms reaching out to cradle her head as he kissed her back with just as much enthusiasm.

 _Fucking hell, she was brilliant._ Kissing her was like claiming a prize – he couldn't believe that the gorgeous witch was actually snogging him like she couldn't get enough. Both of them opened their mouths at the same time, groaning as tongues collided into teeth. He sucked her bottom lip between his, relishing in the sweet taste of her. To his utter delight, he found that she still made the same irresistible noises as he pushed her back onto the grass, dominating the kiss now. With her back to the ground, he was able to hover over her easily, elbows pressed on either side of her head. He was swimming in bliss.

She pulled back to breathe, chest pounding beneath him. Their legs had overlapped and he realized that he was half on top of her, his thigh solidly between her legs. She panted, running her fingers deliciously against the fine hairs on the nap of his neck.

"Hermione," he gasped, wanting so badly to move against her. It took every ounce of self control he had to roll slightly off of her, despite her clinging to him. "We…we need to finish talking."

She let go of him immediately and he realized his mistake, cursing out loud. The brunette averted his eyes, wiping bit of grass off her clothes. He could already sense that she was shutting down, tensing up.

"No, stop! I-I loved that," he panted, silently begging her to calm down and listen to him. "Fuck, Hermione, I could kiss you all day long if you'd let me. I just have to say something. Hermione, look at me!"

She met his gaze and he could sense the fear there – the anxiety bubbling up from moving too fast, doing the wrong thing. Taking both of her hands in his, he squeezed hard.

"I should have said this last night," he began, scooting closer to her so that their knees were touching. Their fingers interlaced automatically. "I know without question that I love you, and I'm not really sure if you love me, but I am unwilling to let your unease with processing hard things keep us at a distance."

She sucked in a breath, clearly not expecting his words.

"Now let's be clear," he continued, the words coming from the bottom of his very being, finally flowing out with what he should have said ages ago. "I'll talk to you when I want to, for as long as I want to, and I will ask anything I want about how you are feeling, what you think of as you face grief, and anything else I want to know. You can do as you choose. Ignore me. Refuse to answer. Refuse to feel. Do what you want, Hermione, but I will too. I'm not going anywhere this time."

* * *

 _A/N: One last chapter to come! Let me know what you think about this one :)_

 _Please also give my newest story, Anapneo, a quick read! It's going to be involved and angsty and full of R+H fluff, but I'd love to know your thoughts._


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